In Another Life
by Karateprincess67
Summary: Where did Stella really go after the end of season 6? Certainly not to New Orleans! Follow Stella and Mac through a major undercover assignment that changes the course of their lives forever- and explains her sudden departure that was so lacking from the show. AU post-Vacation Getaway. Enjoy!
1. Ch1- Home Sweet Home

Home Sweet Home

I left Mac at his office to do paperwork on the Shane Casey case after we returned from a quick bite to eat at the diner across the street from the lab. Danny and Lindsay had gone home to get some much-needed rest, but he wanted to get a head start so they wouldn't be swamped when they returned. He lingered at the door for a moment and then with a small smile over his shoulder, he slowly pushed open the glass door and let it close behind him with a soft clunk. As I continued my way down the hall, I noticed the waning afternoon sun begin to cast shadows through the halls. I hadn't realized how much time we'd spent sorting through everything with the Casey case after he'd dropped off the lighthouse and into the ocean the night before- nearly everyone had left for the evening.

My own office door gave a similar clunking sound as I opened it and headed to my desk, intent on getting ahead on my own paperwork before I went the way of the rest of the lab and headed home. But before I could settle in, I noticed a white envelope that was propped up on my desk between my keyboard and my computer. Frowning, I lifted it and was instantly suspicious at the lack of writing on the front. There was no return address or stamp. My name wasn't even printed on it. I sat in front of my desk, tore it open, and pulled out a folded piece of letterhead, this time with the Department of Justice seal at the top. Immediately I was convinced that this letter was clearly not for me- the DOJ didn't contact crime labs. They saved their recruiting for the FBI. But then I saw my name.

For a moment, I skimmed it but I made myself go back and read it completely when I saw phrases like "your duty to your country," "your skills make you a valuable asset," and "we'll be in touch in forty-eight hours". Everything in the room seemed to freeze and then began to spin. My stomach dropped to the floor. I suddenly understood. The DOJ was recruiting me for an assignment. A mandatory assignment.

Still clutching the paper, I jolted out of my chair and hurried out of my office. I needed to get out. I stormed past Mac's office and vaguely heard him call my name, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

Suddenly faced with the door that lead to the roof, I slammed it open violently and took the stairs two at a time, reminding myself that the narrow walls of the stairway weren't actually closing in on me. Three, two, one more step and then the cool early evening air sliced at my face, forcing its way into my lungs. I swallowed it in short shallow breaths, stopping myself at the railing with a vice grip around the metal under my fingers.

What could the DOJ possibly want with me? What was I going to have to do? I was going to have to leave New York, leave Mac, Sheldon, Flack, Danny, Lindsay, Sid…I was going to have to leave _Mac. _The letter reminded me that I couldn't tell anyone about this, that it was "a matter of national security". Everything inside me twisted at the thought.

I pushed my hair away from my face and took a deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain in my lungs. Another breath. Another. I had a half mind to lift my hand and let the paper catch the wind. I could forget that I'd ever received it. Even as I thought it, it sounded foolish so I stuffed it into my back pocket and bowed my head against the wind, forcing more air into my system.

I heard the door open then as footsteps that I'd recognize anywhere approached me. He didn't speak, didn't touch my shoulder. He just rested his forearms against the railing beside my white knuckles.

Wordlessly as well, I reached into my back pocket, pulled out the crumpled letter, and held it out to him. I didn't raise my head, but I could feel his eyes on me, searching, wondering, worrying. His fingers took it stiffly. His body tensed as he read it and he tucked it into his own back pocket when he was done.

It wasn't often that Mac spoke first but I could feel the anxiety radiating off of him. "48 hours," he said.

"Apparently," I answered so quietly that I was afraid my words got lost in the wind.

"And there's no way…I mean, you can't say no."

I shook my head. "How am I going to do this, Mac? You know what they make people do."

His arm wrapped around my shoulders then and his free hand pried my fingers from the railing as he pulled me into him. I was just tall enough to rest my forehead against his cheek and my shoulders curved in, making me about as small as I felt. My fingers closed tightly around his wrist as I curled further into him and tried to focus on his steady warm breath as it rustled my hair. A nagging voice in my brain broke into the quiet moment, reminding me that I wasn't going to be able to do this for much longer, that I was going to have to leave him behind. His hand that was resting on my bicep lifted itself to my hair and I closed my eyes, willing myself to commit this feeling to memory because I knew I'd need it.

We got a few moments of peace in the early evening breeze before the piercing ring of my cell phone sliced through our impromptu haven of sorts. I contemplated not answering for a moment, but the overwhelming hazy feeling that consumed my head before Mac had arrived was back so I reluctantly pulled away.

"Bonasera," I answered flatly.

"Detective, Chief Sinclair. There's something we need to discuss privately. Be in my office in ten."

"Yes sir." I hung up, pushed my hair back, and met Mac's eyes for the first time. "Sinclair knows."

"I'll come with you."

I nodded with a grateful smile and breathed a sigh of relief when his hand found the small of my back and led me back downstairs. The intensity in his eyes told me that he didn't just mean the trip to Sinclair's office across the street. I knew he'd come with me on the assignment if he could. We walked silently together, allowing our fingers to brush loosely as we went. The lab was still empty between the swing and night shifts and Sinclair's building was practically a ghost town. Our silhouettes cut sharply across the offices and we paused at his door. Mac pulled the letter out of his back pocket with one hand and squeezed my fingers with the other as he nodded and opened the door for me. I turned back slightly as the door closed to see him take a small portion of the wall across from the door to wait for me, his arms crossed tensely over his chest.

"Detective," Sinclair greeted me briskly, "I got a call from the director of the DOJ earlier this afternoon."

"I got the letter," I said, not much caring about the contempt in my voice.

"So you're aware of your new assignment."

"More or less," I shrugged. "Do you have any idea where I'll be sent?"

"They weren't much more forthcoming with me than they were with you, Detective," Sinclair said pointedly. Though he must have recognized the silent snarl of disdain that curled my mouth for a moment because his voice softened as he said, "I do know, however, that your team will be informed that you've transferred to the New Orleans crime lab as the lab supervisor after you've been…relocated."

"I'm going to be the head of the New Orleans crime lab?"

"Hypothetically, yes. I'll take care of the logistics. Though you should know that if you need to contact me, all communication will be filtered through the DOJ. I'm sure you're aware of the element of secrecy involved here. It's-"

"'-A matter of national security,'" I finished, "yes, I know."

Sinclair nodded. "Excellent. Now, I suggest that you clean out your office and get your affairs in order. I'll be sure to clear things up here."

"Yes sir." I turned to leave, but Sinclair called me back.

"Detective, good luck. You will be missed."

I couldn't manage a smile, but I did return the compliment with a grateful nod. "Thank you, sir. I'll need it."

I opened the door to find Mac still leaning stiffly against the wall with a frown so deep on his face that the corners of his mouth could have been attached to weights. What got me the most in that second though was the look in his eyes, like the look he'd had on his face when Claire was still missing for those couple of weeks after 9/11, before we knew she was dead. I felt my heart constrict at the memory and then collapse even more when I realized it was a reaction to _me_ and I wanted nothing more than to fold in on myself. I hadn't felt this way in years. I hated it. The office suddenly teemed with life as the night shift was released from their briefing and people passed through our line of vision, oblivious to what was going on.

Mac's eyes shifted toward the elevator and I nodded, not caring about the things I was leaving in my office or the bag I kept in my locker back in the lab. We stood together in front of the doors, not touching and not quite sure what to say as we rode down to the parking garage in the elevator. When I felt his hand on my back leading me to his truck, I felt an unnatural amount of relief at the warmth. Still, we were silent and every time I shifted in my seat on the way to his place, the letter in my pocket crinkled so loudly that it was uncomfortable. I reached forward to turn on the radio just for noise, but Mac caught my fingers tightly with his and lowered them to the console between our seats. His jaw was set at a sharp right angle and his eyes focused determinedly on the road ahead. He didn't pull his hand away for the rest of the drive.

When we got into his kitchen a half hour later, he suddenly turned to me as if he was startled by something. He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "What…I don't…What do we do now?" Mac was normally one of the most eloquent men I knew, though he wasn't particularly loquacious, so hearing him stumble over his words was jarring.

I crossed my arms over my chest and replied wryly. "Sinclair said we're supposed to tell everyone I'm going to the New Orleans crime lab as a new supervisor. It's quite the promotion."

The corner of his mouth twitched grimly. "They'd be lucky to have you." He paused. "Does he know where they're really sending you?"

"No idea," I said, suddenly feeling the rage bubbling in my stomach. "But even if I knew, I'd probably have to kill you if I told you."

His mouth flattened into a hard line. "Stella," he warned, his voice was low and gravelly.

"No, I'm serious, Mac. You know these people. They expect you to give up your life just because they decide you're an 'asset' to whatever bullshit operation they're running halfway across the world. They expect you to leave your home, your job, the people you love so they can turn you into a machine that doesn't ask questions and will lie, cheat, steal, kill on command." I ripped the letter out of my back pocket. "This one piece of paper is supposed to make me leave? It's supposed to change me, order me around? Make me into something I'm not?" The laugh that erupted from my mouth was loud, slightly shrill, and filled with disdain. "The hell with it! Screw them!" I tore it half, then into quarters. I kept going until all I was left with were bite-sized pieces of DOJ letterhead confetti. "Screw all of it! I'm not going! I won't do it! I'm not leaving! They can't do that to me; they won't! They won't!" The pieces of paper fell from my hands onto the granite island. I wanted to shout obscenities in every language I knew, wishing it could all be over with just tearing up that letter, but I knew it wasn't that easy. It didn't work that way and my voice was gone with a gasp. My arms crossed themselves again and my shoulders hunched, trying to shut out the DOJ and the world, just like when I was a little girl, just like that first night after Frankie.

Mac was next to me then, his arms closing around my shoulders, bringing me to him. My forehead went to his shoulder and my fingers wound themselves tightly in the front of his shirt. Just like on the roof of the lab, he didn't say anything. Instead, he threaded his fingers through my hair and held me against him, held me up really, because I was sure that if his arm loosened, I'd be on the floor.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed before the rage inside me fizzled to a simmer and the tears stopped, but when I finally lifted my head from his shoulder, the dusk that had settled when we'd arrived had turned to night and his kitchen was dark. He didn't seem quite ready to let me go even when I leaned back a bit because his hands found their way to my cheeks and he leaned in until his forehead rested against mine while the rough pads of his thumbs did their best to brush away the remnants of tears from my face. I took both of his wrists and felt the rhythm of his ragged pulse under my finger tips.

"You'll be okay while I'm gone?" I whispered.

"I just won't be as good," he said lowly and I tried to smile, remembering that time in the locker room all those years ago when I teased him about doing this job without me. "I'll take off work until you have to leave."

I nodded. "We'll have to clean out my office. I'm sure my replacement will need the space."

"No replacement. It's your office, Stella."

"We have to keep up appearances, Mac. The team has to buy the New Orleans story. Part of that is going to be a replacement."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Fine. Substitute. We still have to clean out my office. And-" I pulled away and pulled the badge off my hip with a trembling hand, "-they're going to want this back."

"Stella-"

"Mac, just…hold on to it for me."

His lips flattened again and he sighed. He pushed it gently back towards me. "Tomorrow. Keep it until tomorrow. We'll go clean out your office and tell the team you're moving to New Orleans. But not yet. Tomorrow."

"Okay," I said.

"Come on. I still have one of your overnight bags in my closet."

I nodded and let him pull me towards his room. We prepared for bed quietly and moved around each other with ease, like we'd been doing this for years, like we'd be doing it for years after this. I tried not to think about how that last part might not happen. We turned down the comforter and settled down together, his arms around me again and my hand above his heart.

"I'm going to miss this," I whispered into his ear in the darkness, wanting to remember the feeling of safety and peace with him next to me.

"I'm right here, Stella," he answered quietly.

I've known for years that Mac doesn't just do this sort of thing. He's not usually one to hug or hold anyone and he rarely lets anyone get close enough to do it for him. He doesn't just take off work without plans and back-up plans for who will be in charge while he's gone. He's usually the one to give people space. He's the voice of reason, the person who takes on everyone's problems and the weight of the world and somehow still manages to stand upright and support everyone else in his quiet way. Neither one of us knows what's going to happen when I leave. We don't have any idea where I'm going or what I'll have to do when I get there. We don't even know if I'll be able to come home.

I raised myself up onto an elbow next to him and his arm loosened around me. I looked at his face, suddenly contorted as if he was in pain. I could tell he was thinking about what might happen on this assignment too. In that moment, he looked years older and younger at once, as if the stress was finally aging him, but the fear took him back to when he was a child. "Mac," I whispered, hating that he was going through this because of me, and his face twitched in recognition of my voice, but he refused to open his eyes. I laid my hand on the side of his cheek and slowly moved my fingers across the lines etched in his face, hoping to smooth them out. It seemed to work and he relaxed against me. When I was finally satisfied that he was asleep or at least resting as peacefully as possible, I settled back down at his side and closed my eyes. Just as I was drifting off, I felt his hand come to rest on top of mine on his chest.

What felt like a quiet eternity later, I vaguely heard a phone buzzing in the distance and a deep voice answer groggily. I had the feeling that I'd be woken up properly in a moment and I moved my head slightly with a soft hum to tell Mac that I didn't care who it was- neither one of us would be going anywhere anytime soon. The bed was too warm. His body against mine was too comfortable. I felt his fingers move through my hair as the darkness pulled me away again.

And then I sat up in an empty bed with a gasp. Early morning light was starting to peak through the blinds, giving the room a hazy, grey quality. It took me a moment to recognize the room as Mac's and to notice that he wasn't there with me. "Mac?" I called. My only answer was a fervent knock on the front door. Trying to remember if that phone call earlier was a dream or had actually happened, I pushed myself to my feet and made my way slowly down the hall. I pulled the door open to reveal two men in dark suits, one who seemed to be balding in spite of his young years and the other with either chalk or powdered sugar on his lapel, standing on the threshold of Mac's apartment.

Before I could speak, they flashed DOJ badges. "Detective Bonasera," they greeted with brisk nods.

I wondered vaguely how they knew I was at Mac's instead of my own apartment, but instead I greeted them equally as briskly. "The letter said 48 hours."

They exchanged a furtive look. Baldy answered. "We like to overestimate on time, Detective. Now, we have a meeting in Langley in a few hours. Please gather your things."

"I don't have anything with me," I answered, trying to sound casual and stall at the same time to appease the furious pounding in my chest. "It's all in my office or at my apartment."

"Unfortunately, we don't have time for side trips," Powdered-Sugar chimed in. "Get whatever you have now. You'll be provided with new things once you've received your assignment."

I realized I probably wouldn't win this, so I tried to improvise. "Give me ten minutes." I closed the door in their faces and hurried back to Mac's room. I saw the note then, lying on his pillow. _S, Lindsay and Danny just called. Have to go over and sort things out. Will talk when I get home. Maybe lunch at that Greek place you like? - M._

'Dammit,' I hissed.

"Detective, let's get a move on," called one of the agents outside with a purposeful knock on the door.

The pen Mac must have used earlier had fallen off the nightstand and I snatched it up, flipped over his note, and scribbled my own message on the back. _M, Intermezzo. Sorry. I'll miss you. –S. _I picked up my badge where I'd left it next to his the night before and placed it on top of my note on his pillow.

I quickly dressed and brushed my teeth, hurrying at the sound of another insistent knock.

"Detective-" the other agent started.

"Impatient, aren't we," I said, flinging the door open. "Well? You said something about being late for a meeting?"

Without giving me an answer, they turned and stalked down the hall. I took a deep breath as I looked back at Mac's apartment and closed the door behind me.

Oo00oO

Danny and Lindsay's place was a mess when I got there. The normal assortment of police vehicles surrounded their building as I parked my truck and hurried toward the open door of the ambulance where Lindsay was wrapped in a blanket wearing a stone-faced expression. She was never so devoid of emotion and it startled me to see her like that. As Stella would joke, I was more of a rock than the rest of us combined. Danny stood a little way off holding a distraught Lucy tightly in his arms. I wasn't sure who to go to first, but Danny nodded toward Lindsay, so I made my way over. I talked to them both separately and heard the story of Shane Casey's death. By all accounts, he'd practically asked for it; it was clearly a good shoot.

I stayed to do what I could for a few hours until the early morning, telling them to take the day to recuperate as much as they could and we'd sort it out the next day when we'd all be back in the office. 'Well,' my brain reminded me, 'maybe not all of us.' I'd been trying not to think about yesterday, wanting the news of Stella's assignment to be just a bad dream, but I suddenly couldn't avoid it any longer and found that I needed to call her, to hear her voice, to make sure she was still where I'd left her. I caught a glimpse of the time on my watch before I dialed- 7:00 in the morning. If circumstances were different, I was sure she'd kill me for calling so early, but I pressed "1" on my speed dial anyway. I forced myself to not jump to any conclusions when I got her voicemail.

I only vaguely remembered the drive home as I hurried up to my apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. The quietness of the building gnawed at my empty stomach ominously, but I told myself it was still early. People, namely Stella, wouldn't be up until they had to be.

The first actual sign that something was amiss was my unlocked front door and my stomach flipped when I felt the key give way too easily in the lock. I _knew _I'd locked it behind me before I'd gone over to Danny and Lindsay's. "Stella?" I called as I stepped into the apartment. Everything was so still. I've always known to trust my instincts, even before the military, so I knew then that it was _too _quiet. I wanted to reach for my gun on an impulse, anticipating something behind every obscured corner in the apartment.

"Stella?" I called again, a bit louder this time in case she was asleep so I'd wake her up. Again nothing. Even the air seemed not to be moving.

I pushed open my bedroom door and saw the comforter upset on top of the bed. I hoped she was in the bathroom. "Stella?" I knocked on the door and pressed my ear to it, trying to detect any sound of life. Stillness.

"Dammit," I sighed, turning back to the room. Before I could make up another excuse for why she wasn't there, my eyes caught a glint of gold from my pillow and my stomach turned over. I seized it up along with a note in Stella's unmistakable neat scrawl. It was her badge. And then I saw that word: _Intermezzo. _'Stay alert. We've got trouble. _Wait.' _

I sat down on the mattress and hung my head. Stella was gone. _Wait. _

Part of me wanted to stay there, holding her words in my hand, for as long as I could manage it, maybe even forever. But then I noticed the absence of sound again- the eerie stillness and quiet that only spoke of what, _who, _had been here. Who wasn't here with me now. I couldn't take the oppressiveness any longer. I was at the lab before I realized it.

"Flack, get everyone to my office," I demanded roughly into the phone at my desk. I had to tell them; it couldn't wait. I paused while he replied, reminding me about Danny and Lindsay. "So we'll call them. It won't take long. Just do it." I smashed the phone back into its cradle and paced until Flack, Sheldon, Sid, and Adam arrived a few minutes later with Danny on Flack's phone. I wanted to yell, scream, recruit all of them for a rescue mission, or at least hit something, but I forced myself to pull it together. I just had to get through the next few minutes. I could do it- I was determined to do it- for Stella. I turned to them and pushed the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach away when I remembered that I'd be cleaning out her office today on my own.

"What's up, Mac?" Flack asked incredulously, the only one brave enough at the moment to contend with my obvious mood.

I gritted my teeth. "There's something you all should know," I started as calmly as I could. "Stella's been…called away on business. She'll be heading up the crime lab in New Orleans as of tomorrow."

"What?" Adam said sharply. "She didn't tell any of us."

'It wasn't her choice!' I wanted to yell. Instead I answered, "It was short notice. She had to leave immediately." My anger and energy that motivated me to have this impromptu meeting a moment ago started flagging with a vengeance. "But she wanted me to tell you that she's going to miss all of you and that she'll come back to visit as soon as she can. Now, let's get on with the day. I'll be looking for her…sub-_replacement _within the week."

After a few moments of shocked silence, Flack hung up with Danny and brought up the slow line of people filing out of my office with a heaviness about them. Just before the door closed though, Flack turned. "Mac-"

"Just drop it, Flack, all right? Just…drop it."

With a look that seemed to know perfectly well that there was something I wasn't telling everyone, Flack amended his question. "Just wanted to let you know that we're going to pick up Sanders in a bit, you know, guy who blew up that meth lab last week. I can let him sweat it out in the box until you're ready, if you want a go at him."

Remembering Stella's office, I shook my head. "You take point on this one. I'm taking a personal day. I've got things I need to take care of."

Flack nodded. "You got it, boss." And then I was alone again.

I was thankful for the quiet in Stella's office. I wasn't happy about why Danny and Lindsay weren't there, but it gave me a chance to take care of things without people's concerned and curious stares. I worked efficiently, making it a point to not look at the pictures from her desk or the art and commendations from the walls as I packed them away in boxes and carried them out to my truck. I emptied out the drawers of her desk with only a few sweeps of my hands and called in IT to wipe her computer when I was done. Her cases could be parceled out to the team later and I sat the folders on my desk wishing I could leave this part of the process to Sinclair to deal with. I cleaned out her locker and packed the bag she kept there alongside the boxes in my backseat, ready to be stored in the back of my closet unopened until she came home. I returned to my office to get my things and when I felt the prick of metal in my pocket. I pulled out Stella's badge. I knew Sinclair would want it, but I also knew that I would keep it for as long as he didn't ask for it.

I opened a drawer in my desk and placed it inside, closing the metal front with a harsh clang.

She'd told me to stay alert. She'd told me to wait. So I would.


	2. Ch 2- We Were Never Here

We Were Never Here

By the time the Denali came to a final halt several hours later and the hood- "For security reasons, you understand"- was pulled off my head, the afternoon sun was shining at blinding levels. We'd pulled into a rather non-descript office building parking lot and the gleaming windows loomed over us as the agents ushered me out of the back seat.

"What, I won't be passing through top-secret meetings on the way?" I asked Baldy who was pulling me by the elbow and following a few steps behind Powdered-Sugar as he led the way into the building.

"We've passed through all the necessary security check-points," he answered gruffly.

"We're late," called Powdered-Sugar as he pulled open the glass door and punched the "up" button on the near-by elevator.

"Yeah, a four and a half car ride'll do that," I muttered as we stepped into the elevator. "What are we late for, exactly?"

"In due time, Detective," Baldy answered and reached out to grab the handrails along the walls as the elevator jerked to life. "You might want to hold on."

It was quite possibly the longest and most confusing route on elevator I've ever taken. I'd only heard about the secret government buildings where elevator shafts were built in all directions, but it was the first time I experienced it, let alone realized it was actually possible. I tried to keep track of the number of times we went up, down, around turns, and sideways, but I started to get vertigo so I focused on my reflection between the two mammoth agents flanking me. I'd pulled my hair up before they blindfolded me to keep somewhat cool, but the flyaways still had a mind of their own. Despite the situation, I actually looked rested and I nearly smiled when I remembered why. Sleeping beside Mac whenever one of us was going through something always tended to do that. The elevator slowed to a halt then and I took one last look at myself as I was at that moment before the doors opened with a ding. I had no idea what was going to happen to me and I wanted to commit that rested feeling and the familiarity of my own reflection to memory, like I'd been doing so often for the last twenty-four hours.

Baldy tugged at my elbow then and we stepped into a long hallway with no windows to break up the stark white walls. Our footsteps echoed on the polished white tile as we went and I was sure that we were underground. Finally we arrived at a plain white door guarded by a wall-mounted keypad and man holding a rifle after several turns. Powdered-Sugar stepped in front of me, flashed his ID to the guard, punched a few keys, and stood to the side as the door opened. Baldy let go of my elbow with a slight push and before I could react, the door swung shut. I was alone.

I took in my surroundings: I stood the solitary living thing in a huge office painted a deep burgundy with hardwood floors and expensive-looking furniture. Once again, the walls had no windows, though two were covered in bookcases. Figures in oil paintings stared down at me from the two free walls.

"Hello?" I tried, hearing my voice echo. No answer. Damn all this secrecy, I thought. "Detective Bonasera um…reporting for…duty." Still nothing. I started to feel my blood pressure rise. Even though it was a huge office, the dark paint and furniture were making me claustrophobic. And the eyes in the paintings didn't help either. To distract myself, I went over to a floor-to-ceiling bookcase and perused. I was surprised for a moment to realize that they were mostly classics; I'd been expecting back-issues of Conspiracies-R-Us, but I found Homer, Machiavelli, even Shakespeare. I grinned at Machiavelli. I was the only one who could challenge Mac and his methods of always adhering to protocol and that book always threw him for a loop when I brought it up. I reached out to take it off the shelf when a voice behind me boomed off the walls.

"Ah, Detective! I thought I heard you come in."

I yanked my hand back and flinched in surprise. When I turned, I saw a friendly-looking older man, probably in his sixties, wearing a crisp black suit that matched his cronies. His fingers were extended into a triangle across his middle and his eyes shone at me, despite the dim lighting in the room. The wrinkles on his face did nothing to hinder what I hoped was a genuinely kind smile. Once I overcame my surprise, I tried to greet him, but he raised a hand.

"No need, Detective. Unfortunately I cannot tell you my name as it might hinder your investigation."

"Investigation," I repeated incredulously.

"Yes. Please, sit," he said, gesturing to the upholstered armchairs in front of the desk.

"Should I have been briefed about this before?" I asked, sitting slowly.

"I see your commissioner followed orders after all. No, Detective. I'll be giving you the information you need, though I wondered if you might make the connection."

"Connection? I'm not even sure why I'm here." I tried to keep my voice level when I felt the exasperation bubble up in my chest. Why was no one upfront about _anything _with this assignment?

"You had a case a couple of years ago involving Greek and Italian crime families in New York and Philadelphia, correct?"

"Yes. We put one of the bosses away and had to do some damage control when leadership changed. But they've been virtually dormant since then. We've had very little contact with-"

"Unfortunately, that status has changed. We have intelligence from organized crime that the regional Greek families are planning something big. The new boss seems to think it's time to make more of a reputation for himself."

"After two years?"

"I assure you, Detective, our intelligence is not wrong." I had to bite my cheek to keep in the scoff that wanted out.

"Do you have any idea what this plan is?"

"No. We'll be entrusting that to you."

"Me?"

"You are Greek, Detective. You speak the language, you know the customs. Especially with the bosses overseas, you'll be an invaluable resource."

"You mean whatever is going on might turn into an international incident?"

"We believe they're attempting to restore the connection between here and Greece. As I'm sure you're aware, Detective, the arms smuggling business and terrorist routes are centered in Athens. At the moment I have no one currently on staff to take on such an undercover operation other than yourself and, from what I've seen, you are an excellent pick."

"So you're telling me that I'm going undercover to prevent another 9/11."

"I knew you'd make the connection," he smiled again. "You'll be assuming the role of Daria Hallas, a liaison from the Philadelphia Greek Mob. You're to infiltrate the Saptakos family in Greece and report back to us over secure lines. You'll be looking for major terrorist organizations who are allied with any syndicates in Greece who are supplying the men over here. You're to gain their trust and get as close as you can to get as much information as you can."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but if I say 'no'?"

He grimaced. "I'm afraid that won't matter much. You'll be going in regardless of whether you want to or not. But your confidence is important. It might mean the difference between your death and the death of the world as you know it or not. I suggest you get it in your head to cooperate now because we will have no personal contact after this meeting."

"So I should assume that if I'm discovered you'll deny you ever knew me."

He chuckled. "I'd say you watch too many spy films if you weren't correct. Now, one of my agents will give you the information you need and take you where you need to go. Do you have any more questions for me?"

"You said I'd have no personal contact with you after this meeting so who will I be reporting back to with the information I get?"

"You'll never know their names. My agent will give you codes you can use that will change each time you send a message. She'll explain the process, but in short you'll report back to the agency, not any one person for-"

"-Security reasons. And I won't be able to speak to my team."

"I'm afraid not. In the case of an emergency though you can send the message with the code you'll be given. We'll pass it along."

I nodded.

"If that's all, Detective, I have somewhere I need to be." He stood from his perch on his desk and extended his hand. Reluctantly I took it. "Go through that door and my agent will meet you," he finished, inclining his head toward a door that seemed to have just materialized from the wall to my left. I let his hand go and started toward it, but he stopped me again. "And Detective? Good luck."


	3. Ch 3- Fire Breather

Fire Breather

M-

Here I am. Well, sort of. When I left the office- whichever one it was- the agent told me I should stop thinking of myself as me and really _believe _that I'm this mobster woman they're making me be. She said it's safer that way, to forget who I am so I can be this new person. I wasn't even sure how to respond to it at first, but she said it would get easier. My assignment tonight is to fill in the blanks in the file they gave me. Of course, all my papers are legit, but it's up to me to be who those papers say I am. You should see this get-up they've got me in. I apparently like the color black because that's all I've been given: black pants, black stiletto boots, black tops, a black leather jacket, even these huge black sunglasses that take up half my face.

They also wanted to change my eye color so I've got these bright blue contacts that I have to wear. Actually, they kind of remind me of your eyes- they're just a different shade. And yours are much warmer. This color makes my eyes look like ice, though I guess that's what they're going for. And my hair. God, my hair. They dyed it so now it looks like pitch. And they've straightened it, which I'm supposed to maintain. All of the curls are gone. No waves, no kinks, not even a little flip at the ends. It's perfectly straight. I'm looking at myself in the mirror right now and I swear it must be a window because this woman in front of me isn't me. I wonder if you'd recognize me.

When they dyed and relaxed my hair, I felt my heart stutter because it was _me, _you know. I've never had straight hair and I've never wanted it. It makes me feel…_exposed_ somehow and I hate that feeling. But here's the thing, there is something that I like about this: the blood-red lipstick. I normally can't pull off a color like that- I always thought it made my cheeks look sunken, but it definitely works, for this woman anyway. I know what this…assignment is going to be like- these guys aren't exactly boy scouts and I'm going to have to do a lot to prove myself, even with this resume the feds created for me. I get this pit in my stomach every time I think about it. But I can't help but like it- the lipstick, I mean. It makes me feel…venomous. Powerful. I don't mind feeling that way at all. Then I think about what I'm going to have to do while I'm this woman who wears all this black and this lipstick and I feel sick again because this isn't me.

They told me her- my- backstory: I'm a career family member. My entire line has been involved in the mob, first in Greece and then across the Northeast. I went to school for accounting at Brown, thanks to my father's enormous bank account, and ran operations out of my apartment while I was there. I take credit for the big heists of the 90s before leadership changed and alliances were tested, but I've never gotten caught. I'm one of those order-people-around-but-never-get-my-hands-dirty-types, I guess. My parents are responsible for some of the most important kills of that era too and I have four black belts and a substantial weapon collection back home in the States.

There's also the necessary stuff, like birthday, social security number, etc, etc, but that's what they've given me. As I'm looking at myself in the mirror now, I can tell you more about me than I thought would be possible. Even though I went into the family business and made a name for myself, I have a passion for cooking and music. Not for dancing or singing or anything, just listening. I always wanted to have a younger sibling to boss around and torture, but I'm an only child so I do it to my colleagues instead. I have very few friends because I've betrayed enough of them in my life time that people have learned to stay away, and I really couldn't care less. Alliances are strictly business and I like it that way. I've considered taking the business from my parents the hard way, but I won't. Not because I'm afraid to, but because they're too smart and alert for me to be able to pull off something like that. Instead, I'll take it another way, by being at the front of the line when the alliance between the States and Greece is finalized. My favorite color, next to black, is green. I make a mean baklava and I was always top of my class in school. I can't stand this hotel room because it's dingy and the sheets are scratchy. I prefer silk. I've never had a stuffed animal, nor have I ever been afraid of the dark.

I thought I was going to be able to wait until tomorrow to become this woman, but I think I know her better than I thought I would and that's scary. So in these letters, I need to stay me because if I don't, I might go insane. I already feel so conflicted because I want you to be here with me, but I know _she_ wouldn't. You do this thing where you can calm me down and keep me grounded no matter what's going on. I could be ranting and raving about something, shouting in your face, but all you have to do is say my name and everything is okay again. I wish I could say our names out loud or write them down to remind myself of the curly-haired me that I left at home, the me that I left with you.

But I'm not me anymore. I'm the woman in all black with the straight hair and the venomous lipstick who's not afraid of the dark. I wouldn't even say "it's nice to meet you" when I'm introducing myself. I'd look at you with these ice-cold eyes and say this name that screams importance and demands respect. Daria Hallas.

Would you recognize me?

-S


	4. Ch 4- Silence

Silence

Hi everyone! You have no idea how excited I was to get such positive feedback so far- thanks so much! Here's a short letter from Mac to hold y'all over until I get Stella's next installment, which is pretty long, to a decent place.

* * *

Stella,

It's so quiet here.

I discovered something while I was stationed in Beirut with the Marines and then again after Claire died: there are different types of quiet and even more types of silence. There's the silence I grew up with where you could hear the crickets and the birds outside and know that even when you were alone, you were still surrounded by life. Things were still happening around you so you could just sit alone and let them happen without needing to join in to feel like you were doing something worthwhile.

My grandparents' house was in the suburbs so I was used to hearing the crickets and the birds and the occasional car passing by their house on the gravel. There was a field not far from where they lived that I used to love to go to whenever we visited them. I'd lay on the ground in the middle of the rows of dead corn husks, watching the clouds and listening to the buzzing of bugs around me. Or I'd bring a comic book to read because their house was always too noisy during the day. I thought it was some kind of secret that it was _my spot_ because I never took anyone there. Of course, my parents knew and they never said a word. Come to think it, they're probably the reason why I never heard a tractor while I was out there. I always thought I'd just stumbled on some good fortune, but they probably told the neighbor that I was there so he wouldn't accidentally run me over. That's the sort of quiet I like: when things are calm and I can actually hear myself think. I'd move out to the suburbs now if I could because, as much as this is my city, there's just too much going on at once and I forget what it's like to just exist without interruption, without noise.

That's one good kind of quiet: the kind where you're not afraid of hearing your own thoughts.

Then there's the kind of silence you experience with other people. It happens when there's a natural lull in conversation because you're content to just be around another person. You don't have to say anything or do anything because you can exist together. I used to love doing that with Claire. After dinner she'd sit on the couch with a good book while I tried not to laugh out loud at the newspaper stories that were always wrong. Sometimes we'd just sit there and she'd hold my hand while I played with her hair. We barely spoke during those times and it always reminded me of being in that field that I loved as a kid. It was comfortable.

But then there was Beirut and 9/11 and I figured out what the bad kind of silence was. First, it's there on the battlefield. The gun shots and shelling have stopped. No one's yelling at each other. But you're still wound so tight that you're stiff when you figure out how to relax because you're anticipating the worst possible situation: there's going to be an ambush. Someone's going to bomb you. In a second you'll hear the wails over someone else who's just been killed. Maybe it's one of your friends who's more like family, maybe it's on the other side this time, but they never sound any different and they always come after that deadly quiet.

Next, it comes back with you to an empty apartment. It's everywhere around you when the person you love can't come home. It's eerie because you _know _they should be with you on the couch, but they're not. Their voice isn't there anymore; their place at the table is empty. Their clothes are still in the closet; their toothbrush is still next to yours by the sink. It's almost like their stuff is waiting for them to come back as much as you are, but the more time you spend alone you know they're not coming back.

And that's when it starts, the thoughts in your head that you're afraid to hear and that you'll be damned if you acknowledge because you think it's some kind of weakness. That's the kind of quiet that reminds you of how alone you are and feels like it could go on forever. It starts to hurt your ears because you're trying to hear _something_ other than what's in your own head, but there's nothing more for you to hear. It becomes this pervasive nagging feeling that you just can't shake and even the good types of quiet can become unbearable. It's like the bad memories taint the good ones so you don't have anything left except this gaping hole that used to be a life that you wanted to get up in the morning to live.

I never thought I'd actually reach the point where all of the bad memories would replace the good ones. I never expected it would get _too _quiet. Sure, I had a lot of bad nights after Claire was gone, as you know, but even when the silence seemed like it was blocking out everything else, I remembered that I still had you. And no matter how quiet it got, I could always hear you.

That's why I told you that I wouldn't do this job without you after that mounted officer shooting six years ago. Ever since I met you, you've brought sound into my life. Not noise, because that just gets overwhelming and irritating, but _sound. _You're like…the crickets in the field or those quiet nights at home with someone you care about. You reminded me that there was always something to look forward to every time I forgot.

I thought the silence in Beirut or after Claire was bad, but this…this is _too _quiet. You were just here yesterday, Stella. You're still all over the lab. All of your stuff from work is in my closet, but you're not here and I have no idea what to do about it. Sinclair's assistant is starting to put together lists of people for me to interview as your substitute, but that's the last thing I want to do. If I had any idea where you were going, I would follow you and help in whatever way I could; I hope you know that.

But I can't. This isn't me following you to Greece to track down Professor P. I can't stop Sinclair from hiring someone else. I can't stop the quiet. And I don't know how to stop it from getting pervasive and unbearable. So, I'm writing you this letter and I'm going to keep writing to you because it's the only thing I _can _do. And maybe, if we're lucky, it won't have to stay like this for long.

-Mac

* * *

**A/N:** I've been inspired by a ton of music for this story and I thought it might be fun to include the songs I've been using as a sort of soundtrack, if you will. So, you can expect a note like this one (because I can't publish the whole thing at the end of the story) at the end of each chapter with the song(s) that have been motivating the story. You should totally go listen to them if musical inspiration is also your thing =]

IAL Soundtrack Chapter 4: "The Silence"- Bastille, "Silence"- Dirty Heads, "Photograph"- Ed Sheeran

Also, to make up for the first three chapters:  
IAL Soundtrack Chapter 1: "I'm a Mess"- Ed Sheeran  
Chapter 2: "Skinny Love"- cover by Birdy  
Chapter 3: "Fire Breather"- Laurel


	5. Ch 5- Busy Erasing Voices of the Dead

Busy Erasing Voices of the Dead

Hi everyone! I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to get this chapter out- I just started a new job (!) and it takes over my life during the week. But it's about time we get over to Greece and meet Stella's new team, don't you think? I should probably note that all characters, including the crime families' names, below are completely fictional. I did a little research into Greek names and picked the first ones I liked, ones that had some significance, or ones of my own creation. Okay, here we go:

M-

Today was my first day "on the job", if you can call it that. Fortunately, nothing too dramatic has happened yet, though my reception wasn't exactly what I expected. I figured I'd get in with the family right away, considering how much Daria's…_I've _accomplished already, but apparently, they like to be the judges themselves. Allow me to introduce you and hopefully that'll never happen in person.

I was a little nervous this morning before I left for my meeting at this tiny café, not because I wanted to make a decent first impression or because I was afraid I wouldn't be convincing as Daria, but because I was worried the feds hadn't given much thought to my clothes. I told you about the all-black and the red lipstick. No one -and I mean _no one- _in Greece dresses like this. It's hot and humid and you'd be insane to wear this much dark leather, especially at this time of year. I thought it might too conspicuous. After all, none of the mobsters you and I have dealt with dress like this because they know they'd be spotted a mile away. I had a crazy thought while I stood in front of my mirror: that I was being set up. Maybe they purposefully gave me this ensemble to make me stand out as an outsider. I started having all of these thoughts about conspiracies and who might want me dead to the point that they'd be willing to go through all of this nonsense to get me out of the way. I know you'd tell me I was being ridiculous if you were here. Actually, that's how I got myself out the door- I knew you'd tell me to just take a breath and be smart about this, so that's what I tried to do.

Because I got to my place late, I didn't get to see it in the daylight until now. I'm living across from a main square in Athens and it's a microcosm of the rest of the city. I've always thought the ruins of ancient civilization next to a McDonalds were rather funny, but I actually like being so close to all those ruins. Never mind all the history behind them, which I've always found fascinating, but they've always made me feel connected to the country for some reason. It's like, because my heritage is here, I have a stake in the history as much as anyone does. I'm part of something bigger than me because I can imagine the chariots clacking down these cobblestone streets rather than the hum of smart cars and mopeds.

So even though I was nervous this morning, leaving my new place also felt like taking a breath of fresh air. I almost went to wander around an old temple because I love that connected feeling, but it only lasted until I remembered what I was doing there and who I was supposed to be. Daria doesn't strike me as the type of person who would care anything about the ruins, never mind notice them at all. She's focused and lives in the present. I actively had to force the smile off my face while I marched across four lanes of traffic in a roundabout to the café where I was supposed to meet someone from the Saptakos Family.

I'll admit, regardless of who I'm supposed to be, it was a cute little place with its bright red umbrellas and black wrought iron tables and chairs that glinted merrily at me in the sunlight. The design on them was intricately beautiful and each piece must have taken ages to make. I sat back with my coffee, as per my instructions, at a table on the north side of the cafe and watched the traffic go by. It was nearing midmorning, but there were still a decent amount of people on their commute to work and even some were still relaxing in the café reading a newspaper over breakfast.

I took a look at my watch and noticed that the people I was supposed to meet were late. My foot started tapping impatiently on the smooth stone under my boot as I scanned the small crowd to try to find them.

As it turns out, there _are _people in Greece who dress like this and I've met three of them so far. I didn't have to wait for much longer when a man with this ugly tattoo on his neck and a lankier, younger kid sat down at my table without saying anything. Both of them wore black leather. The kid looked terrified out of his wits, but Tattoo-Man passed me a folded newspaper across the table and I saw a message on it. It was written in the local dialect and told me to follow him. I waited while they made for an alley across the square and followed a few minutes later.

As soon as I got into the alley, someone forced a hood over my head and tossed me into what I figured was a van. The DOJ told me to expect this. Even low-level mobsters liked secrecy and weren't about to let anyone new in without taking these types of precautions. I had to stop myself from thinking of those conspiracy theories again.

I came face to face with Tattoo-Man awhile later in the entrance way of what looked to be an important building. The kid ran ahead of us and pushed open two massive wooden doors. I got a closer look at them as we passed into a large atrium and I noticed that, like the wrought iron furniture at the café, they were carved in painstaking designs. Unlike the café though, these carvings depicted battle scenes, likely from an ancient war. My eyes met those of a wooden soldier, his mouth wide in a victorious yell, brandishing the head of his conquered enemy in one hand and his sword in the other. I wanted to acknowledge the ominous feeling that crept up in my stomach then, but it took all my attention to ignore it and follow Tattoo-Man into the atrium.

The entire expanse of the room was lit only by narrow windows near the soaring, wine-colored ceiling that was framed in gold. My heels echoed on the checkered marble as we passed many golden columns at regular intervals that reached to the ceiling. The room seemed to stretch on forever through the haze created by the dim lighting, to say nothing of the gloomy quiet that descended over us.

Tattoo-Man wordlessly gestured to a dark wooden bench that sat across from another hulking set of carved wooden doors. I took the seat on the bench next to him and he relaxed back against a golden column with an eerie smirk.

"It is impressive, yes?" As he spoke, I noticed that his eyes were level with the scaly, looming head of a snake that was carved into the column. It seemed to be watching me with a similar dangerous curiosity that I saw whenever Tattoo-Man looked at me.

I shrugged noncommittally. "It is smaller than my father's mansion in the States."

Rather than being offended, as I expected he would be, his eyes lit up. "This will be a great partnership then." And then even more surprising, he actually apologized for needing to blindfold me. "We needed to be sure of who you are," he told me. It wasn't until then that I noticed the needle mark on my arm- they'd clearly taken blood to make sure I was Daria and I hoped that the DOJ was good enough to fudge their results. Evidently though, Tattoo-Man was satisfied because no one was holding me at gun point. He introduced himself as Koza Agathon. The lanky kid who always looked uncomfortable was apparently named Loukas and he returned then to sit shakily on my other side. I wanted to start a conversation with him, but I knew that Daria would simply ignore someone she deemed inferior to her so I forced myself to pay him no attention.

Koza, I noticed, likes to talk, and by "talk" I mean "brag" about everything he's done for the family since he was old enough to do anything worthwhile. He announced proudly that the tattoo on his neck was one of the Birds of Ares and showed me another war-themed tattoo-in-progress on his forearm. You should have seen the grin he gave me when he explained that it was for documenting his kills. His entire face lit up and he said he couldn't wait until the next mission- he'd been promised it would be big.

Loukas, I was learning, seemed to be the exact opposite of Koza. He barely spoke while we sat and he couldn't sit still. I got a good look at his face and he couldn't have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three years old. I wonder what he'd done that got him here.

I finally interrupted Koza to ask what we were doing- I never liked to be kept waiting, after all. Apparently, we were waiting for some guy named Theo who was getting off an overnight at their nightclub. According to my intelligence, the family was the sole owner of Club Karamela about a twenty-minute walk from my place. I asked why we weren't meeting Theo there, but Koza didn't have a straight answer for me. I figured they were going to keep me as far out of the way as possible until I could be trusted. Like I said, so much for that DOJ resume.

I also couldn't be sure of how much I should argue. Daria was certainly the type of person who didn't like to be challenged like this, but I hadn't prepared for this kind of treatment. When Koza started his story-telling again though, I decided to take a risk on a hunch. I said something like, "don't you understand who I am? This is no way to treat such a valued guest."

I could feel Loukas shifting anxiously on my right while Koza scowled. Before he could retort though, I stood up, again on a hunch. "I am the reason why you'll be getting that empire you want, so I suggest you cut the crap and get down to business, or you can kiss our partnership good-bye." For a second, I was sure I'd blown it. They'd never let me in when I clearly couldn't get along with their main members. But I didn't have to wait long to figure out that I'd done something right. Just then, the doors ahead of us opened and a sandy-haired man ushered us inside another room.

It was dim like the atrium, painted in similar dark colors, and a roaring fire in a stone fireplace cast long shadows on the walls. The sandy-haired man gestured to two black leather couches a few feet away from a wooden desk and held out a glass tumbler to me as I took my seat. He filled it with strong-smelling wine and sat across from me while Koza and Loukas hovered behind us. I took a sip of my drink and felt its warmth spread down my throat as the heat from the fire prompted me to take off my jacket. Neither of those things could prevent the slight shiver on my spine when the man appraised me in a similar way as Koza had done with that smirk of his. But I could tell it was different- with Koza, there was a curiosity about me related to my place in the family. With this person though, there was a sickening amount of attraction evident on his face.

When he introduced himself as Theo though, I couldn't help but feel a little proud of myself for the show in the atrium. Obviously, I'd done something right.

We began discussing our arrangement. "Everyone starts out on the bottom," he told me, "so we can be sure this is somewhere you'll fit in." He wanted me to start cataloging new shipments by the pier while Koza kept an eye on me.

I- Daria- was insulted. "Do you know nothing?" I had no problem challenging them now. "This job is for children! I won't be degraded into such a position that requires baby-sitting. I've killed more than he has and you know it," I fumed, jerking my head in Koza's direction behind the couch. "Need I remind you of your agreement with my people?"

The flash in Theo's eyes made my stomach churn. "Unfortunately, this is non-negotiable. I've been given specific instructions and we cannot deviate from them. My superiors require that you prove your worth and this is their chosen method." He seemed entirely unfazed. "But I am sure you will be more than…satisfactory." God, the look on his face then: I could tell he was ogling me like that on purpose, but I'd be damned if I gave in. Not even Daria would stoop so low as to sleep with someone for a job promotion. She does everything on her own merit; not by bribes, not by coercion, and certainly not by trading sex.

"This is an outrageous waste of my skill." I paused, not sure if I'd reached a line or not. "But very well. I can see this is how things will be done around here, regardless of inefficiency."

Theo gave me an appreciative leer. "Excellent." He held out a nondescript-looking black cell phone. "Keep this phone on you at all times. We will be in touch about the specifics of your first assignment. You are not to use it for any other purpose than communication with us. If you do, we shall know."

I snatched it from his hand with a scowl. "Very well."

"Escort Ms. Hallas home, Koza. And take the proper precautions." Theo's eyes wandered over me again as I stood.

"When should I expect contact?" I asked, pretending not to notice.

"Within twenty-four hours," he said after a short pause to collect himself and met my eyes again. I wondered if he had a similar conception of time as the DOJ. "You should be prepared to act at all times, however."

"I always am." I turned on my heel without so much as a good-bye, wanting nothing more than to stop him from looking at me any longer.

Koza caught up with me as I stalked though the atrium. "Hallas!" he called and seized my elbow. "Forgetting something?" He held up the hood furtively with that smug smirk I'd already come to associate with him. He didn't wait for my permission before shoving it onto my head.

In what seemed like no time after that, I was being pushed out of the van into the alley they'd taken me from earlier and the hood was removed before I stumbled onto the cobblestones. I blinked in the blinding sun to get my bearings as Koza and Loukas sped off. On my slow walk back to my apartment, I eyed the ancient temple down the road that I'd wanted to visit earlier. I sighed heavily, no longer feeling its draw, and turned my back on it at the door to my building.

0o00o0

As it turned out, I was relegated to the lowest jobs possible for a couple of weeks; Theo didn't seem too convinced that I could handle business at the club even though taking inventory was child's play. I was starting to get a little concerned that I wouldn't be able to get any worthwhile information. There was only so much the DOJ was going to be able to do with a couple of names halfway across the world. I wasn't even allowed in the building until people above him gave their approval so I was assigned to be part of a team on a minor heist involving another local family. Apparently, my guys and this other family have been at odds for years and are on similar levels in the world of organized crime. They've been fighting over territory since before the generation of people I've met and the heist was only meant to cripple the rivals- for now at least.

The Samos family owns quite a bit more real estate at the moment than my guys, but the plan so far is to start depleting their stores so the land is easier to take later. They were expecting a new shipment of guns and drugs into a few lockers at a storage facility and one of the bosses on our side wanted to intercept it as covertly as possible. They're really all about that over here: keeping everything quiet. It's honestly a wonder they get anything done.

I was put on a team with Koza and a few other soldiers and we waited until it was dark- practically the middle of the night- to suit up and leave headquarters where I'd first met Theo. In the alleyway behind it, I was given a rifle, a duffle bag, and a transmitter to keep in touch with the guy who was placed in charge of the operation. I took a look at the men around me and noticed again that the black wardrobe wasn't as much of a stretch as I thought it was. Daria felt right at home.

We got orders to climb into the van that would take us into Samos family territory, but we still had to wait for orders to enter the building. Koza sat across from me as we rode, grinning and holding his rifle like it was his favorite toy he'd been given for Christmas. Daria felt similar: the excitement, the anticipation, the sheer power of having an advantage over another person. Because of her, I couldn't be sure whether the churning in my stomach was from my nerves or her enthusiasm.

I tried talking myself into calming down. Really, I thought, this is no different than the day we seized all that coke from the Irish mob and then blew up the lab trying to stop them from stealing it back. We had an objective that day: to stop them from gaining control in our city. The more I thought about it, I realized this situation, while a little distorted, wasn't much different than that. It's my job as a part of this family to stop anyone who gets in our way, not so unlike my job- _our _job- at home.

I know we fight with ourselves all the time about what separates us from the people we take down to accomplish our goals, to do our jobs. And every day, we have to remind ourselves that it's the _reason _behind what we do that makes us different from them. We keep our city safe when other people try to destroy it for their personal gain. But sitting there surrounded by the darkness in that van waiting for my orders made that nagging feeling that we never want to feel creep into my stomach and I couldn't help but think that maybe we're not so different from them after all. The Saptakos Family perceives a threat from a rival and puts together a plan to take them out. Their objective, not so far off from ours, is to maintain control over what they perceive as theirs. Maybe it's just me who's not so different anymore.

_Well_, I thought wryly as a voice in my ear gave me and the rest of the team the okay and we hurried to clear the small warehouse, _at least this is familiar_. We were in and out in ten minutes and the warehouse was stripped clean. When I reported in with my stash- mostly the drugs- Theo finally seemed satisfied and gave me orders to meet him at the club the following night for a drink.

I know I sound passive about this and maybe the assignment is starting to get to me, but I'll be honest: the heist was nothing. It took such little effort and I cared so little about what was going on that I wasn't even surprised at myself for being able to go through with it. I know this is just the beginning, but there's a part of me that's not sure whether this is so terrible any more. Maybe I'm just being short-sighted and forgetting where this is ultimately going to lead, but it's not difficult for me to do this. I guess that's one positive thing about the whole situation: I'm not so terrible at playing another person. At least I'm not wincing when I look in the mirror now.

My meeting with Theo at the club wasn't terrible either. Actually, you'd probably balk at how these things work over here. You know all the clubs at home we've had to bust for drugs and all sorts of underage fiascos going on? Club Karamela puts the worst ones we've dealt with to shame. The biggest issue though is that they've gotten so good at hiding all the illegal activity that you wouldn't know there was a problem unless you knew exactly where to look. I wormed my way through the crowd to sit at the bar, watching the strobe lights dance over my favorite wine that I always like to get when I come to Greece. They don't import it to the States so it's always been something of a reward for me to have it when I come over here. I was a little early for my meeting so I stayed there with my wine, trying to find Theo's table without looking too eager.

As I scanned the club looking for him, I noticed that whoever decorated it really took the "candy" theme to heart. Purple and pink neon lights wound around the ceiling and blinked to the beat of the music. Similar thinner green tracks of light were wrapped around black tables. The catwalk for the dancers was covered in shiny black linoleum and was set in perfect view of the VIP tables around the room. Surprisingly, the place was immaculate. This wasn't your typical pizza joint front or a meeting in a dark back corner of a restaurant. Everything about the family that I'd seen so far spoke of their resources and screamed that they were untouchable. Even though they were covert, everyone knew what was going on and there wasn't anything anyone could do to stop it, even if they wanted to.

Finally, I spotted Theo at a VIP table with two other people and I had to take a moment to remind myself how big this assignment actually is, how dangerous these people are, and how much I'm risking blowing it completely by allowing myself two teeter back and forth between myself and the person I'm pretending to be. The heist we pulled off a couple nights ago might have felt similar to one of our raids, but this was different. With a deep breath, I grasped my glass, slid off my stool, and made my way over, trying to look like I'd gotten tired of waiting.

"Theo," I said shortly as I stopped in front of his booth. I gave curt nods to the man and woman with him.

"Ah, Daria, we are so glad you could come," Theo said, standing up to greet me. I wanted to slap that smug leer off his face when he skated his hands across my back. "Please, sit." I slid in to the booth ahead of him next to the woman. "I'd like to introduce you to Ariadne and Nick. Ariadne has been an asset to our organization for many years and Nick-"

"-Is your boss," I said, remembering the last piece of intelligence that had been kicked back to me. "I do not like to be unprepared."

Nick nodded. "And that, Ms. Hallas, is why you are here." He was rather soft spoken for someone of such great power. But, even in competition with the music and the chatter around us, he made himself heard. He lifted his glass to me and I clinked it with mine. The look on Ariadne's face when I reached over her to do it was positively murderous at my clear encroachment of her territory. I understood why: if all was to go according to plan, I'd be taking her place, not to mention my closeness to her boyfriend.

Theo seemed to share Ariadne's sentiment as well. "Easy, Nick. You've already got one." He nodded to Ariadne and I wanted to throw up.

"Perhaps we should discuss our next steps," I said. Daria always wanted to get down to business.

"Very well," said Nick. "We have only a few more tasks for you to complete before-"

"'A few more tasks'?" Daria was getting angry and I set my glass safely down on the table. "You understand that I am here because you requested that I be, yes? I am finished auditioning. You know what I am capable of and-"

"I do not doubt you," said Nick, holding up a hand calmly, "our father, on the other hand, would like to see how far you are willing to take this."

"And you would do well to do as the father says," warned Theo darkly.

I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from asking if the father could read- he was supposed to have gotten records of my credentials, after all. I stirred my drink, pretending to debate whether or not this arrangement was still beneath me. I could insult the underlings all I wanted, but the boss was off limits. "What is it that the father requests?"

Nick and Theo shared a look and I knew it couldn't be anything good. "In due time," Theo said and ordered another round of drinks.

I tried to stay as sober as possible while also keeping up with them so it would look like I was up for whatever challenge they had for me. As the night went on, I managed to get an idea of what we would be doing. Now that we'd made a severe dent into the Samos family's stores, we would have to strike quickly to take their territory and put them out of the game for good. "The Father," as we were calling him, didn't want any competitors when we finally got to making the alliance with the States. Considering what I'd done so far and what my record said I'd done, he felt comfortable making my status level with Theo's. The three of us- Theo, Nick, and myself- would be commanding three strike teams to claim the Samos family's stronghold at the docks as well as the rest of their stores for ourselves. They'd be put at a significant enough disadvantage that they'd no longer be prepared to make any sort of international agreement. The important part of all of this would be keeping it relatively quiet so we'd have a scapegoat if things started getting too hot. There was that inconspicuous mentality again that I was sure would make them fail eventually.

0o00o0

The big heist was supposed to go down a few days later and we were using most of the supplies we'd stolen from them so the authorities would be busy speculating whether or not the incident was an internal war. You wouldn't believe how similar their protocols are to ours. I was actually stationed in a command post that I've used with you before and I had to remind myself to listen when they explained how things were going to work while we were in there.

Nick sat back in his seat, his arms crossed loosely over his chest with one foot crossed over his knee. His face was passive and unfazed, listening calmly to the activity from our teams coming over the transmitter in his ear. Theo, on the other hand, was visibly tense: from checking and re-checking the plans in the file in front of him to twirling a pen between his fingers while jiggling one foot, he was a bundle of nerves, obviously wanting things to go exactly according to how the boss wanted them to go.

I tried to copy Nick's position, listening calmly to my earpiece as my team took out the two guards at the door without any commotion. But then, the movement stopped and one of my guys whispered shakily, "We need to abort the mission."

I looked at both Theo and Nick who had equally confused expressions on their faces.

"What are you talking about?" I hissed.

"They are inside. No one said anything about anyone being inside."

Even in the dim light, I could see Theo's face blanch at the realization that things were deviating from the boss's plan. Nick sat up straight in his seat, but he looked more curious than concerned. "How many are there?" he asked.

"I count seventeen," Koza's voice said. "I can take them out, boss."

"No. It is too risky. This was not part of the Father's plan," Theo said.

"We would get what we came for, but it would also draw much more attention than taking it quietly," Nick said pensively.

Daria couldn't stand it any longer. "What is with all of this covert nonsense? Do you not realize that you will never get what you want unless you take some sort of risk? You want to be the most successful family in Athens? You're going to have to do something to get noticed. You want that empire to control the trade from here to the United States? Do something that will make you worthy of it! You will never accomplish those things if you continue to resist these types of missions. You must be willing to take a risk if you want the reward. You must do something big to go somewhere big."

Even now, I have no idea where that speech came from. Well, that's not entirely true. I remember one of the nuns at St. Basil's who always encouraged us to be brave and take risks to follow our dreams. I'm certain this wasn't something she had in mind though.

"Kristos," I barked into my microphone, "can you take them out?"

Every single member of my team answered quietly, but emphatically, "yes."

"You see?" I said, turning back to Nick and Theo, "they are prepared. You give the order and we are one step closer to achieving greatness. They are ready. Are you?"

They both looked at me hard for a moment and then Theo turned to Nick again. "The Father said-"

Nick held up a hand to stop him with a nod. "She is right. Go."

"Light them up, Kristos," I said firmly into the mic.

A crash boomed so loudly into my earpiece that I almost tore it out in pain, not wanting to listen to the attack anyway. But I knew Daria would _want _to listen in. She'd enjoy the sounds of her handiwork. Angry shouts and gunfire erupted for a few seconds. And then it was over.

"Koza," Nick said, "report."

"It is done," he answered with an unsettling amount of glee.

They both let out short breaths of relief. Rather than looking pleased though, Nick merely looked pensive and Theo was downright seething. "You could have gotten them killed!" He spat.

"Yes. But I didn't." I said with a grin.

It took our teams about ten minutes to get everything out of the warehouse. As Koza and the other soldiers opened the back door to load the excess cargo into the command post, I got a look at the newest addition to the Saptakos Family territory. Despite the commotion earlier and a few blown out windows, the building was largely intact. Once they'd tossed all seventeen bodies into the harbor, it would really be like nothing had happened. The sun would rise on a building that would appear as though it had peacefully changed hands. I removed my earpiece and gave them a smile only Daria could give. "Congratulations. You have become the most powerful family in Greece."

I'm sitting in my apartment now, giving up trying to sleep off the drinks I'd had with everyone at the club in celebration and I can't help but remember how calm I was giving that order. I thought I'd flinch when I heard the screaming or the shots that silenced them, but I didn't. I expected that it would be difficult to talk them into going through with it, not because I thought they'd be a hard sell, but because I wasn't sure I'd be able to say the words. But it wasn't and I did. My orders killed seventeen people.

What does that make me? How much further am I going to have to go? How much further am I _willing _to go?

-S

IAL Soundtrack: "Out of the Dark"- Matt Hires


	6. Ch 6- Bad Blood

Bad Blood

_**A/N: Hello, all! We're headed back to NY this week to check in with Mac as he talks out a case with Stella- well, as much as that can be a thing. As I'm sure you'll figure out, the psycho in this chapter wasn't actually in the show, but I didn't want Mac to just be pining for Stella to return- we all know he's a workaholic! I also know that Mac's chapters are consistently shorter than Stella's which, if I'm being honest, is a completely happy accident. Mac's not exactly what you'd call "talkative", so I thought briefer chapters on his part were actually in-character. Still, I hope you don't feel cheated when you're comparing them to Stella's! One more thing before we get started: reading your thoughts is unexpected motivation for me, so let me know what you think!**_

* * *

Stella,

He's back. The Widow-Maker is back.

At first, I wasn't sure it was him. I mean, it's been over ten years since his last kill. Remember we caught the case our first year working together? We were assigned to it on the third set of murders because everyone else had given up by that point. It was the same scene every time: a young woman, found dead in an abandoned apartment staged on a mattress in a wedding dress with no signs of foul play, other than the fact that she was dead. The way they were posed always reminded me of how funeral homes make people look: like she could have been asleep unless you knew she wasn't. They all even held bouquets of flowers- granted they were marigolds, a symbol of death, but still. He'd set the whole thing up to make it look like she was going to her wedding and funeral all at once.

When we processed those scenes together when he was still active, we never found any physical evidence other than the vic. No DNA, no hair, fibers, or fingerprints, no sign that he'd broken into the apartment. No signs of a struggle. Absolutely nothing. I remember you thinking it might have been suicide, but we never found a note or an empty bottle of pills, a gun, a knife, or anything else. And none of the vics had any wounds that indicated how they'd been killed.

Hawkes was just as confused as we were each time we went to see him about the results of the autopsies. He suspected that the vics were poisoned, because that seemed like the only logical conclusion when he didn't find a gunshot or stab wound or strangulation marks, but he said there wasn't actually trace of poison either. I think those murders were the only times he'd ever had to list COD as "unknown".

What he _was_ able to find were IDs for the last set of vics. Remember the female vic in that one? He'd only been able to find her because her prints were on file for teaching clearances. You looked her up and found that she'd recently been divorced. I still remember that _look _you gave me when you said her ex had been murdered not long before her. I think it was that moment when we put it together that these murders were bigger than we thought, and the moment that our guy got his nickname.

Like we figured out with the other vics' exes, he'd been shot- executed- by a bullet to the back of the head in the apartment he'd rented after their marriage fell apart. But, like the other murders, there was no physical evidence at that scene either. No signs anyone had broken in, no DNA, no fingerprints, not even a foreign tire tread outside. The bastard even removed the bullet from the vic's skull so we couldn't run ballistics.

It's been over ten years since those last murders; the case file has been sitting in that pile on my desk all that time, just getting colder. And then a few days ago, he killed again. Another couple was killed because we couldn't catch him the first time.

The scene was exactly like all the ones before: woman lying on a mattress in an empty apartment, wearing a wedding dress and holding a bouquet of marigolds, but still no physical evidence anywhere. It's maddening, Stella.

Thanks to Sid though, we did get this woman's name: Kristy. I didn't even need to ask this time about whether she'd recently separated from her husband or whether he was still alive. Sid put their TODs at about a week apart which, we agreed, at least gives us an indication of pre-meditation. Not that we didn't think that already.

I started going through the old case files when I caught this new set of murders, just to see if I could get anything new. I even went down to the evidence locker and waited for an hour to get all the old evidence. It only filled one box that I used to carry it all upstairs. For a second, I thought I might be able to find something on the wedding dresses, even just a minuscule amount of trace, but it turns out that all of the dresses belonged to vics and were completely clean. Never mind the fact that the only evidence we have is a dead end; this guy posed the women in their wedding dresses after killing them. To take something so symbolic of new beginnings and happiness and turn it into _this _is…sick. It's just sick.

I know what you're going to say- find the common denominator among the vics. That wouldn't be difficult in any other situation where they actually had anything in common, but none of them worked or shopped at the same places; they didn't have their cars detailed at the same garages or take the same subway route to work. They lived in different neighborhoods; none of their friends knew each other. I know I'm always saying "follow the evidence" and "the evidence will fill in the gaps" but I've got _nothing, _Stella. There is no evidence here. This guy and what he did to these people- it's like they don't exist. It's like, because there's no evidence to tell their stories, they've been wiped off the face of the earth, like their lives didn't mean anything.

How am I supposed to solve a case when there's no evidence? And how do I explain to Kristy's family that there's nothing I can do? How is there still _nothing _I can do after all this time?

I need your help, Stell. This case is making me insane and I need to talk it out with you because you can help me make sense of things when they seem impossible.

I know I can't blame myself for what this guy has done while he's still out there. I know I'm not _allowing _him to have free reign of the city to kill people. But I'm not doing anything to stop him either. I'm just twiddling my thumbs and staring at the victims' clothes in front of me which feels just as good as giving him permission to do whatever he wants in _my _city. What if he kills again? It's never good when that happens, but I can't agree that it's entirely bad either. With more murders comes more evidence…in most cases.

But not this time. Even when he kills again, we won't get any more to go on.

God, I'm just so _tired._

You know, since you left, I've been contemplating retirement. Not that I'm actually going to do it, but the thought has crossed my mind. I'll think, _maybe I'm getting too old for this. _ Maybe all I'd have to do is hand the case over to fresh eyes and…no.

No, I can't do that. Our team is the best. If anyone can catch this guy, it's us. I know we say that to each other as a platitude to reassure each other, but I really believe it's true. Besides, I can't go out like this, not with this case still open and boggling the minds of detectives across the department.

But what am I supposed to do, Stella? How do I arrest someone when I have no evidence leading me to him? How the hell am I supposed to _find _him? Is it even possible to catch a ghost? I mean, who the hell _is _this guy?

Wait…

I'm looking back through the old files again and I just noticed that no one ever did a proper profile on him. We got the general stuff- he's likely a loner, etc, etc- but nothing beyond that. This is normally your area of expertise, but I feel like there's something here. How would you do this, Stella?

First, you'd infer from the premeditation suggested with the staging of the women's bodies and the murders of the husbands that these killings were likely crimes of passion. Right, so maybe the vics met him somewhere, like a coffee shop…no, no. You wouldn't go there yet.

You'd say: if they were crimes of passion, it wouldn't be a leap to guess that our guy wanted to get the husbands out of the way. Maybe the wives all had an affair with him at some point and they decided to divorce their husbands for him. But then why would he kill both of them? If the marriage is over, he gets what he wants. Never mind the question of why he would do this more than once. Maybe the women got cold feet at some point. Or maybe he just wanted to be thorough- if the husband is out of the way, she'd have no choice but to stay with him, or so he would assume. Maybe she threatened to leave our guy and he retaliated. That would certainly explain the sets of victims- he doesn't get to keep what he wants so he tries again and again until he gets it right. There's perseverance for you.

What else, Stella?

The affair would probably be a secret, but what if each of the women confided in someone? Especially after finalizing the divorces, they'd be free to do whatever they wanted, including telling a close friend or family member. There's nothing in the files about anyone hearing about an affair though…wait; Kristy, the newest victim, had a best friend who told Flack that there _was _someone new in Kristy's life. She said she'd tried to talk Kristy out of it, but it never worked. And then Kristy introduced them.

Oh, my God.

_Kristy introduced them! _Her best friend met our killer!

I was wrong- the _people _in this case are the evidence. The common denominator among all the victims is our killer! Of course.

Stella, you are _brilliant._ I'll let you know how my talk with the friend goes. Hope you're okay.

-Mac

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "Bad Blood"- Bastille_


	7. Ch 7- How the Mighty Fall

How the Mighty Fall

_**A/N:**__ Hi all! So, this chapter was inspired largely by an episode of Castle called "The Belly of the Beast" because it was so well done. If you don't watch Castle, I highly suggest that you start because it's fantastic. If you do, this should remind you of Beckett's undercover experience from the episode. Thanks for staying with me this far!_

* * *

M-

We know what it's like to kill someone. To watch them alive one minute and then be so still and silent the next because of something we did, because we decided that our lives were worth more than theirs. That's really all it is, isn't it? When I shot Frankie, it was in self-defense because it was either me or him and I chose me. I decided my life was more important that his and I killed him so I could keep living. Even if it was in defense of someone else, we've both decided that one person's life was more important than another's. There's the difference between "killing" and "murder" we're always trying to convince ourselves of: we kill because we have to, in self-defense, in defense of another person, when there aren't any options left. But murder is a choice. It's what happens when there is an alternative to taking that other person's life but it's not convenient for you and you take the easy way out. It's what happens when you want another person dead to benefit you. We've both killed people more times than we'd care to admit, so why does this time feel like it's never happened before? I know it never gets easier (or it's not supposed to), but it feels _different _this time, purposeless, meaningless. Frankie's death had a reason. I know there was a reason for this one. I _had _a reason. Maybe it just wasn't good enough.

I had to do it. It was orders. We're getting closer and closer to the center of the ring: some guy named Thi̱río (aka The Beast. I know, real original). To meet him, they give you an order and you have to follow it. But he especially likes it when you get creative. He makes more of a point to pencil you in if he likes your style. After the incident at the port, Nick and Theo said Thi̱río noticed me, that I could be valuable to his mission. But apparently, he still wasn't completely sure. Never mind that my orders killed seventeen rival family members. I always thought mobsters never did their own dirty work, but then again, maybe I'm not high enough in the pecking order to get that luxury.

They told me that they had a promotion opportunity for me, but I'd have to show that I was ready to earn it. They said it would be simple, just someone who was in the way that they needed…eliminated. If I did it and I did it right, I'd get that promotion and meet with Thi̱río. It was like an audition.

I thought it was going to be some guy from that rival family again, someone who wanted revenge for what we'd done and who was trying to get in with this operation they were talking about. I figured this guy would have as many bodies on his hands as my…Daria's…guys have, maybe more. But still, I wasn't planning to kill him. I expected them to drop me off somewhere so I could sneak up on him and then it would be over. I thought I'd be alone so that maybe I could fake it, stage it, get out of it without anyone dying. The guy would have to lay low for awhile, and I'd have to figure out a way to do it without breaking my cover, but it would be better than starting up a body count all my own.

I should have known something was different when Theo, Koza, and Nick ushered me into a car and drove us to the docks. I asked one of them about a guard nearby- wasn't this a little _too _conspicuous? But we passed the booth on the way in. The guard was slumped against the side window. If you didn't know to look for the bullet hole, he could have been resting his eyes or sleeping off those drinks he wasn't supposed to have while on duty. When I saw him, it was like every part of me was screaming at me to get out of there. I think I figured out where my mission was leading then and I wanted out. But Daria wouldn't do that. She'd just ordered a third of a family to be killed over some black market guns and a bigger section of the port. She wouldn't bat an eyelash at something as trivial as this clandestine meeting straight out of _The Godfather_, so I didn't either.

We pulled up in the shadows of the only working street lamp for a few hundred yards and waited. I could see the bay heaving and sparkling gently now that there weren't any ships disrupting it. If it had been any other night and I'd been there for any other reason, it might have been beautiful. But the orange glow from the lights on the waves just struck me as eerie. It was almost like the bay was expecting what was about to happen. Another midnight black car identical to ours shimmered out of the shadows then and its headlights went dark. We all seemed to operate on the same wavelength: everyone in both of the cars opened doors and stood on the gravel outside at the same time. That was when I first saw her: the person they wanted me to…eliminate.

It wasn't like it happened in slow motion or anything, but it took my brain a second to realize what was wrong. She wore these tall black leather boots and her blonde hair, which looked more brown in the light, peeked out in wisps from under the bag they'd put over her head. We walked over to them; I followed their lead to keep just outside the light. Two of the men from the other car held the woman's elbows; she was so thin that I had a problem imagining her as a threat to a dust mite, never mind a threat to their…our…operation. They pushed and pulled her to an abrupt stop in front of me and took the bag off her head.

"This is her?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound as horrified as I felt. Her eyes gleamed at me and pleaded with me to spare her.

"This is the one." When Theo answered I felt my stomach drop. I let my eyes search her face for any indication that she should actually be here, but all I could make out were the contortions of fear. This clearly wasn't the mobster punk I'd been expecting. I could taste the bile in my mouth and tried to think of a way out of this for both of us.

"You can't be serious," I scoffed, "She's a twig; totally harmless."

All the men around me seemed to shrug in perfect unison and I felt a gun and silencer being pressed into my hand by Koza who stood on my right.

"Boss's orders. He wants it clean," Theo said. Then his hand grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. "Make it clean."

Fortunately I didn't have to pretend my disgust this time; for once, Daria and I were on the same page. I stared right back and hissed, "Do not insult me" and turned my head sharply so his fingers left my face. I wanted nothing more than to go wash this entire night off of me back in my tiny, tiny apartment.

The girl whimpered and I looked at her again, then down at the gun in my hand. Looking back on it now, the craftsmanship on it was beautiful: it had a pearl handle with carvings in it, probably of an ancient battle of some sort, like the carvings at headquarters. The steel was pristine and I twisted the silencer on the end to see how it fit- it was flawless.

I tried to stall just as much as would seem natural, pretending to admire the gun while I weighed my options. I could refuse to do it, but I'd blow my cover and the operation for the feds and we'd probably both have been thrown in the harbor to be drowned and crushed by passing ships as soon as the sun rose. I could try to turn on them, but I knew the girl was unarmed and it would have been six against one. _If _I survived the initial mutiny, I knew I wouldn't make it until morning. I could try to stall longer, but it was likely that would blow my cover too. I couldn't try to stage it like I'd originally planned. And then I couldn't think of another alternative; I'd stalled for long enough. Everything would end up in both the girl and me dead and the operation blown. You weren't there; the team wasn't there; there was no cavalry coming. And I couldn't even apologize to the girl without risking them knowing Daria was just an act. I thought it would be better for both of us if I just did it quickly, without thinking about it.

So I tried not to look her in the eyes when I felt my hand raise and my finger pull the trigger twice in quick succession. There was barely a sound when the gun fired and the guys behind her caught her as she fell so there wouldn't be a thud. They wrapped ropes attached to rocks around her wrists and her ankles and hauled her into the water. Those desperate brown eyes stared at me the whole way even, I imagined, down to the sand under the water.

I don't even remember how I got home, but I do remember Theo and Nick pressing the gun toward me as my _prize. _ I'd passed the audition. I'd gotten the promotion and a new, shiny gun all in one day. Daria was so proud. I'm supposed to wait for the meet time in the morning. I doubt that I'll be sleeping.

I don't even know what her name was, but I can still see her eyes watching me, pleading with me, condemning me. I chose my life over hers. I told her she was worthless when compared with the importance of this _mission._ It wasn't self-defense. It was a choice.

I murdered a woman today.

-S

* * *

_**IAL Soundtrack:**__ "The Mighty Fall"- Fall Out Boy, "Runnin'"- Adam Lambert, __"Bottom of the River"- Delta Rae, "In the Sea"- Ingrid Michaelson_


	8. Ch 8- New Days

New Days

Stella,

First, I should fill you in on the Widow-Maker murders. Talking things out with you, however one-sided it is at the moment, definitely put us on the right track. I spoke to Kristy's best friend, Dana, who met our guy after getting a lunch invitation from Kristy a couple weeks ago. Apparently, Dana didn't stay long- she said she spent more time arguing with Kristy about her…arrangement with our guy than she did actually talking to him. But she did say that something about the way he carried himself instantly made her dislike him; he was on the shorter side, but lanky with dark greasy hair and dark circles under his eyes. He'd hunch a bit, which together with intense seriousness, made him seem aloof. He also didn't say much when they met, but she said he stared at her for a full five minutes like he was sizing her up before she asked Kristy if they could speak privately. Unfortunately, she only got a first name which, admittedly, may or may not be his true name, and she wasn't overly confident about the sketch she did for us.

She also talked about how Kristy had driven them to the café, ordered for him, and even paid with _her_ credit card. That was a major red flag, Dana said: at best, he was a moocher; at worst, he was the creepy-submissive-type with mommy issues. Her words, not mine, though I did think something similar while we talked. There was also the issue of his childhood that Kristy revealed to her while they argued in the bathroom. His parents were killed in a car accident when he was young and his older sister, who had just turned eighteen when it happened, took care of him, only to be killed later on by health issues after 9/11.

Dana kept saying over and over again how she still couldn't believe that Kristy would give up her marriage- which was apparently a happy one- for this guy. She even went so far as to ask Kristy if she'd started doing drugs because she seemed so unlike herself.

Normally, I might just write that off as an emotional response from an overly emotional friend, but something about the way she said it made me stop and consider the possibility that our guy doses his vics with something to get them to cooperate- you'd probably joke that it's some kind of "love potion". If they're being killed because something goes wrong in their affair and he's trying to keep control of them, I see two options: one, that he tries to wean them off it but it backfires when they become lucid, figure out what's happened, and try to leave. Or two, that they build up some sort of tolerance to it and come to their senses on their own. So far, Sid hasn't found anything in Kristy's system that would indicate that she'd been drugged, but he's throwing every test he's got at the theory. Lindsay's also running the sketch so at least we've got _something _to go on now. I know it's a long shot, especially with how well this guy has covered his tracks, but I _know _he has a vulnerability that we can take advantage of. He screwed up somewhere and I _will _find it.

As much as this case is going better though, everything else is like it's been turned upside down. For one thing, your…substitute started last week. Her name is Jo Danville and she's a transfer from DC FBI. She's good- smart, driven, determined- so it was really a no-brainer that she should get the job compared with their other candidates Sinclair had me talk to. She even gets along well with the team and doesn't take any crap from Danny or Flack.

But more so than she's literally taken your job, it's like she's also taking your place, or trying to. I have no idea how you do it, but you know what I'm going to say before I say it or what I need before I know that I need it. Jo tries to guess where I'm going with an idea, but she'll say something that's in a completely different direction from what I was thinking. She'll try to anticipate something that I need from the team, but she's rarely even remotely close. I've let her move into your job, into your office, into this family, but something's just _off._

I'm sure you'd tell me that it's good to get a different perspective on things every now and again and I agree with you. The problem is that it's too familiar and different all at once. Your job is being done by someone who isn't you and that's…strange. She just jumped in to the team and into this job thinking she could mesh immediately, but she's never quite in sync with us. I've been thinking of it like my jazz band- I'm actually playing more since you left. It's like all the members of the band have an unspoken agreement every time we play that we just follow each other. We might be playing a song we all know perfectly, but we're prepared if someone goes off on an improvised riff. We back him or her up and just let the song go its own direction. It's almost like someone's having an off night and is just a beat off in every song they play. It doesn't sound like a train wreck, but it's not good either.

She's just not you, Stella.

Maybe I'm just over exaggerating- we do work well together (when she's not trying to be you) and she's the reason we've been so successful with our other cases lately. Things are okay with her.

The problem is that I don't want things to just be "okay". "Okay" is average; it's not anything spectacular. It just exists. There is no "above and beyond" or "extraordinary" or "against all odds" when things are just "okay".

I don't want to just exist. I don't want to have to scramble to try to fit Jo into our team. I want the "above and beyond," "extraordinary," "against all odds" that we had. I'm not so sure that we're going to be able to find that with Jo.

There's something else I need to say, but before I do, I'm going to apologize for saying it because it's unfair and selfish. But I have to ask. What happened to us being extraordinary, Stella? I saw the package you sent to Lindsay. It looked very official; the DOJ evidently covers their tracks well. Don't get me wrong- it was kind of you to reach out to her from…wherever you are. She's been struggling since Shane Casey and, even though she won't admit it, I know it helped.

But why not me? If you were able to keep tabs on things enough to know what was going on here, why didn't you reach out to me? I know, I know, I'm being selfish and unfair and you know I don't like to indulge these types of…feelings, but I needed to ask. It's like ever since you left I've been less, I don't know, _pragmatic_…about things. Or maybe it's just when I'm writing to you that I feel like I don't _have _to be so logical and controlled and I just can't think of a good reason why you chose to write to Lindsay instead of me.

I suppose I should be satisfied knowing that you're well enough to make some contact. Believe me, I'm grateful for that. But it's been almost six months, Stella. _Six months. _With everything so different lately, something familiar- you- would be…everything.

Come home, Stella. Please?

-Mac

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "New Days"- Delta Rae, "Chasing Twisters"- Delta Rae_

_A/N: Sorry to all the Jo fans out there if things seemed a little OOC with her in this chapter. I was never a fan of her relationship with Mac from what little I saw and had to get it off my chest =] In other news, I had something of a breakthrough with the rest of the story (yay!) and I've actually gotten it all written! I'll post the rest of the letters along with this one so we can get to the __**really **__good stuff! Thanks for reading!_


	9. Ch 9- Let it Burn

Let It Burn

M-

I'm in. Just like that, I'm Nick's equal and Thirio's right hand. No more auditioning or proving my worth. No more fitting together the puzzle pieces of their big plan to report back home. I'm not just privy to the information- I decide it.

Okay, I just noticed how haughty that sounded. I don't _mean _to be proud of this, really. It's just that it's taken so long and so much to get to this point that I can't help it. Thirio is an enigma- you're never sure that he really exists, even after you've met him because it's hard to believe that anyone could or should have the power he does. To get as close as I've gotten is a big deal. Maybe I should be more intimidated than this, but _I _did this, you know? I was good enough to get to this point and I'm good enough to go past it.

Here's how it happened: a few days after that awful night at the docks, Nick got in touch and asked me to meet him at the club for drinks. We sat at a table at the back, just the two of us, and he gave me this little smile over his third glass of wine. He congratulated me and told me that I'd gotten the promotion; Thirio wanted to meet me and hash out strategy. If anyone else had been there, he might have started a war in the family just with that understated proud little smile.

I think it almost came to that too the next day when we rendezvoused at the club to head over to our meeting. Theo's eager greeting reminded me vaguely of an excited gnat when I walked in around lunch time; I suppose he was happy at his good fortune of seeing me on a day when he normally didn't. Nick cut him off before he could start up a conversation though.

"Enough, Theo. Daria and I have business to attend to."

Theo looked thoroughly put out and Ariadne, who was still occupying the booth that Nick had just vacated, looked like I'd personally rusted her favorite gun. She grabbed at Nick's arm doing her best puppy-dog eyes under eyelashes that seemed to be batting a mile a minute to try to get herself in on our meeting. It's no secret that Ariadne has had her eye on my spot in the family for years now, and I almost felt bad for her, what with me coming in and getting the job she wanted in a miniscule fraction of that time. But more than I felt bad, I was repulsed- she was really rather pathetic.

Nick seemed to agree and shrugged her off with a promise of seeing her that night and shot Theo a look that unmistakably said "back off". I could feel his scowl on our retreating backs as we made for the door and I couldn't help but laugh at his immaturity. Frankly, it's no wonder why I got the job and neither of them did.

I had to blink when we stepped outside into the bright afternoon sun and I let Nick lead me into the alley behind the club where we met the same van that Koza used to pick me up on my first meeting with them. Surprisingly, Loukas sat behind the wheel; I didn't think he was important enough to know much about the boss, never mind know where he was headquarted or how to get there, but as soon as we were strapped in, he took off, weaving his way nervously through the crowded streets of downtown Athens.

Initially, I expected to be going to headquarters where I'd been before and I turned around in my seat when I realized we were driving in the opposite direction. "Don't we want to go the other way?" I asked impatiently. Although I intended the question for Loukas, Nick interrupted him pointedly- the kid didn't even open his mouth when he saw the stern look from his boss in the rearview.

"No," he answered, "The Father likes his privacy."

Thinking it best not to question it further, I sat back and watched the scenery as we crossed from bustling city, to suburb, to countryside. The roads were hilly and windy and Loukas, for all his anxiety, was taking them at excessive speeds, so much so that I was a little nervous that he would take a turn too quickly and send us toppling into a ravine. If Nick was concerned about this too, he didn't show it. Instead he checked his watch impulsively every fifteen minutes or so and chastised Loukas for not driving fast enough. Thirio is apparently one who subscribes to the "early is on time; on time is late; late is unacceptable" philosophy. I masked a shudder by recrossing my legs when I considered what "The Beast" would do if we _were _late.

We passed an olive tree orchard as we continued to climb the hills and I got a flashback to the time you and I were here together, tracking down Professor P and the lost tomb of Alexander the Great. The hike to the peach farm that day was nothing short of beautiful, much like the orchard we passed in the van. I remembered it so vividly in that moment- the trees and the flowers, the clear blue sky, the scratch of high grass around my ankles. Most of all though, I remembered the feel of your hand on my arm- I could almost feel it- when you pushed me to duck behind a peach tree when the shooting started-

Loukas braked abruptly outside a cottage and jerked me out of the memory. _Focus, _I commanded myself. It was a comforting memory despite the events of the day, but I couldn't afford to reminisce like that when we were finally getting down to business.

Loukas barely acknowledged us as we let ourselves out of the van and took the broken brick walkway to the front door. That was the first thing I noticed that seemed out of place- surely Thirio could afford to have decent bricks paving the way from his driveway- but then I took a look at the tiny place in front of me. The only way I can think of to describe it is _old. _Unkempt with peeling paint, this certainly wasn't what I'd been expecting.

Nick didn't seem to be fazed however, opting to hold the rickety wooden front door open for me as I stepped into what I assumed was the living room. My heels clicked on cracked and crumbling terracotta as I briefly took in the sparse room around us. There was no expensive furniture, no intricate carvings anywhere; no one had even bothered to paint. The wooden furniture looked like it had been taken from trees in the surrounding yard- they weren't even sanded down. A tiny, ancient television complete with dials and an antenna sat on the floor in front of a wooden loveseat. A water pump over a metal basin in the kitchen served as a sink and the cabinets, which I assume were once neatly painted white, were chipped and warped. One was even hanging precariously by one rusty hinge. Nothing about this place screamed the level of importance I expected from Thirio and it was definitely not in the sort of state that seemed fit for his lair.

I looked to Nick who was standing to my left, wearing a passive, casual expression, rather like he was expecting me to say something.

"Well," I started incredulously, "this is…quaint."

"As I said, The Father likes his privacy."

"You are certain we are in the right place? Surely Thir- The Father can afford-"

In a rare display of excitement, Nick strode over to a worn wooden door and pulled it open. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as it gave an ominous creak. "I assure you, we are not mistaken," he said with that little clever smile. "After you." He swept his hand toward the doorway and I eyed the dark descending staircase ahead of me.

_Of course a guy like this would set up shop in a basement, _I thought and I steeled myself and started down.

Although they started as old wooden stairs and every part of me was questioning their structural integrity, they turned to sturdy concrete as we neared the bottom. A plush deep red carpet met us on the basement floor, which we followed into a narrow foyer, lit by candles in golden sconces.

_This is more like it,_ I though as I inspected one in passing. Each sconce, I noticed, was carved into the likeness of every mythical monster imaginable. There was Hydra and Scylla, Cerberus and Medusa, even a manicore. Thirio obviously took his title as "The Beast" seriously.

The foyer led us to a huge living room, not unlike the décor I was accustomed to seeing at headquarters back in the city, complete with golden monster sconces on the walls and framing around the ceiling, leather furniture, dark wood, and burgundy paint.

"Daria Hallas," an unfamiliar, silky voice captured my full attention and I turned to a man seated in a leather armchair- throne, really- with his elbows resting on the sprawling desk in front of him. I willed myself not to flinch when my gaze met his. In the candlelight, his entire being was cast in shadow and the patch over his left eye seemed to slice a cavern into his face. He stood slowly, silently, placing his palms on his desk as he did so, making his black shirt stretch over bulky muscles. Standing at his full height, he was huge, though it might have been a trick of the flickering light.

Nick gave a nod with a short "Father" so I followed suit and inclined my head as well.

Thirio held up a meaty hand and Nick was silenced. "Ms. Hallas," he said, "Nikolas tells me you are partial to a wine we have here in Greece. It only seemed appropriate to have it available for our first meeting." His hand swept smoothly toward a large crystal bottle to my right.

I nodded again, poured myself a glass, and held it out to Thirio wordlessly when I was done. Daria wasn't normally one for manners, but I figured it was a time to make a good first impression. After all, good will goes a long way and my position in the family, hell, my _existence _in the family, could depend on it. When Thirio shook his head, I set it back on its gold tray and took a seat in a smaller leather armchair across from him.

"I have seen your work, Ms. Hallas. It is not often we find someone of your caliber to assist us in our cause."

I took a sip of my wine. "This arrangement is of mutual benefit, Father. My family in the United States is quite anxious to hear of your plans."

He gave a single bark of laughter. "You do not waste time, do you? That is certainly not something we experience often here. No matter. Nikolas, if you please."

Nick jumped into action immediately. "There will be three phases to our plan, all of which will lead to our revolution and capture of all points of access into the United States. We have already taken control here and it is now time to expand our efforts."

"You intend to go across the country with this plan?" I asked.

"Oh yes. When we are through, we will hold a monopoly over every import and export area here and overseas."

Daria matched their feral grins. "And what is your plan to build your empire?"

Nick accepted a piece of paper and a pen from Thirio and drew a crude representation of the U.S.'s eastern coast. "For phase one, we will launch an attack that will convey our might as well as cripple resistance, here, here, and here." He slashed Xs on the paper indicating New York, Philadelphia, and DC. "We will target places that hold…sentimental value first, a warning shot if you will."

"You are referring to monuments, yes?" I suddenly felt breathless and a bit dizzy. Their "phase one" was no more a warning shot than an alligator is cuddly. _If they plan to attack all of those places, that includes-_

"Indeed. A short time later in phase two," he traced the coastline again, "we will strike again to seize all major ports. Phase three will be deployed once this is completed and will expand across the country."

"We will have the manpower for this?" I hoped my voice was stronger than I felt.

"Naturally. You must not underestimate the power of our current connections, nor the reach of the ones we will create once the revolution has begun, Daria."

_Focus. _"Certainly not," I said and raised my glass. "Gentlemen, cheers to the new rise of Greece."

I'm not certain how much longer we stayed, but I knew I had to write this all down as soon as I got the chance. Now that I'm alone in my apartment, I can finally try to make sense of what's about to happen. You know what this means as well as I do. Their "warning shot" is next week. Arlington, Independence Hall, Ellis Island…the 9/11 memorial will be destroyed. And then they'll be there…_I'll _be there…with bombs and guns and it will be war.

You know what they have to do to accomplish this. All of the other families have to be taken out so they can have control: the Russians, Albanians, Italians, the Chinese, _everyone. _They have the resources to do it. I saw it. Thirio and Nick showed me footage from their "schools" where they're training people. They just need enough mindless manpower to swarm every location like a hive of hornets and it'll be done. They will succeed and the best I can do is send word to my handlers and hope that they'll do something about it. I'm not optimistic that they're going to let other people in the loop other than the ones who are on the "need to know" list.

I know you'd tell me this isn't my fault, but I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry that I can't be there, that I can't tell you any of this, that I'm _letting _this happen. I know what this is going to mean for you and I hope to God you know that if I had a way to stop this, I would.

The thing is, I don't see another way. They're setting up charges to go off one after the other, starting with one specific one and each charge follows a specific frequency so if you don't stop the first one, there's no way to turn off the rest of them. Three guesses as to where that first charge is going to go off.

I can't do anything to stop it or shut it down so I need to follow this through until the end. I can't back out. If I do, there's nothing to stop them from doing this again and again until they get what they want. I'm sorry that I have to side with the greater good here.

God, I sound like a fed.

Most of all, I'm sorry that I'm _proud _of what I've been able to do. I'm proud that I've gotten this far and that I haven't proven them wrong….to be honest, I'm not sure if "them" means the family or my handlers.

I know you'd tell me this isn't my fault, that I'm not the one pulling the trigger, that I didn't choose this, but we both know that's just a platitude. I'm the one giving the orders. Thirio, Nick, and I are running the show. And a long time ago I stopped thinking that being forced into this absolves me from everything I've had to do and everything I'm going to do. This is me now. I'm sorry. Please be safe.

-S

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "Burn"- Ellie Goulding, "Milim"- Harel Skaat, "Too Many to Mend"- Libby Weaver_


	10. Ch 10- Phantoms

Phantoms

Stella,

I don't know if you have a TV or a newspaper wherever you are, but it happened and the city's going to hell. Or maybe hell came to us. I'm not sure about that either.

I thought since 9/11 we were doing a better job of keeping people out who wanted to do us harm. The whole point of heightened security is that we prevent something like this from happening, not that we scramble around after it's happened to get some peace back. I don't understand where we went wrong. I don't understand why it's happening all over again.

They hit Independence Hall, Arlington, the war memorials, and…the 9/11 memorial without us anticipating anything.

It happened yesterday morning. I was in the middle of a briefing with Lindsay over the Widow Maker murders when the building shook from the force of the blast. Another one came after that and then another and then it went quiet. Maybe "quiet" isn't the right word. We had a second where everyone in the lab stopped and stared at each other. It was like the world, time itself, had stopped. Then it was chaos. People ran to turn on the news, others went to windows to find out what was going on. Lindsay and I left Trace to try to get outside and it was like an exodus was happening everywhere we went.

Outside wasn't much better. It was like _that day_ was happening all over again: the clouds of dust and debris, the stench of explosives and burning, the screams..._God, the screams. _The city is destroyed all over again. Everything's coated in the same ash and dust and it all has that same desolate look. It even smells the same. The worst part of it is that hopeless feeling that no matter what we do, no matter how much rubble we brush away, there's always more to take its place. It's like when you're a kid and you're trying to build a sand castle at the beach. You dig a hole to get as much sand as you can, but the sand's too dry and the walls keep caving in, no matter how much you scoop out. It's a constant reminder of what I always heard in church as a kid on Ash Wednesday: "remember you are dust and to dust you shall return".

We did what we could, me and the team, until DHS showed up and pulled us away for a briefing. They said DC and Philly had been hit as well simultaneously, at places that have meaning for us. It doesn't take a genius to figure out whoever organized this was trying to send a message. But DHS still has no clue who's behind this yet. They've got half the lab going through massive stacks of files of threats and MOs of people and organizations for even the smallest inkling of who could have done it.

You should have heard Jo after they said they didn't know what was going on, but that this was to be our first priority. She started throwing out crazy ideas about who was behind it. First it was various groups in the Middle East, then turf wars over drugs, then the Russians, Italians, Albanians. I understand that it's a coping mechanism for her but her speculation never gets us anywhere; it's useless and nothing more than an annoyance. And when I told her to cut it out and focus on getting evidence like the rest of the team, she immediately wanted to talk about 9/11. She kept asking me where I was and how I feel about it and what it was like to lose Claire. Somehow she figured out what had happened and she kept trying to back me into a corner- literally- to talk about it. I could appreciate the concern if it had been _anyone _else, but this was like the Inquisition. As if I have time to even consider how I _feel _about this. Never mind that we still haven't closed the Widow-Maker case.

It's like I keep getting problems that don't have solutions. The Widow-Maker is going to get bumped to the bottom of the pile _again. _We were just attacked _again _and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

I've had everyone working since yesterday- with the exception of Danny and Lindsay so they could take care of Lucy- and we haven't been able to connect the attacks with anyone. I'm honestly not sure which is worse: not having a viable theory or not being able to prove one of Jo's crazy ones.

Lindsay and Adam are trying to replicate the blast and Hawkes and Danny are trying to find traces of anything that might indicate a source for any of the evidence we have. Flack's running down DHS's leads and canvases, but nothing's popped yet. Intellectually, I know we'll catch them, just like I know we'll catch the Widow Maker: eventually. Logically, it would be impossible for us not to, what with all the feds' toys and resources we're using, not mention Adam's and the rest of the team's brilliance. But how is it that we have all of these resources at our disposal and we haven't found anything? I know there has to be a solution somewhere in all this rubble and we'll find it…eventually. The problem is the longer "eventually" goes on, the more time they have to plan another attack, plan more murders. We don't have "eventually" here. There is no unlimited amount of time if we're going to do anything- if _I'm _going to do anything to protect my city.

Could this be the time that we don't stop them? What if this is when we finally run out of time? I can't let this happen a third time, Stella. Now would be a great time for you to come back.

When this happened all those years ago, you were here. The last time the city went up in flames, you were here. When I couldn't convince myself that I could do anything worthwhile before it was too late, you were here. I'm throwing everything I have at both of these cases and it's just not enough.

Even on my worst days, I never thought I couldn't do enough. I always thought there was more I could do when you were here. Every time I felt like I wasn't doing enough for the city, for _Claire, _you told me I was. I feel like I'm failing this time, Stella. I'm failing the city because I can't catch the Widow Maker; I'm failing Claire because I couldn't keep her final resting place safe. We might have buried a coffin for her and her name might be etched on that stone for eternity, but her grave was at that memorial. I never thought I'd have to protect it; I thought she'd be safe. There was nothing left to protect there because there was nothing left to hurt…

I'm failing and I can't fix it. It's all so nebulous and ambiguous, like trying to catch the wind.

What do I do, Stella? Do I keep pushing for answers until we're all so burned out and battered that we can't look anymore? What if that's not enough this time? What if I'm not enough this time?

You know, maybe this is the end of the line for me, on the job I mean. Isn't it possible that I've lost my edge and that I won't get it back? Maybe they'd be better off if I just stopped. Everyone could go at this with fresh eyes and I'd be finished. There wouldn't be any more concern for failure; I wouldn't feel like I have a responsibility to protect everything and everyone around me.

That can't be the answer…could it? No, no it can't be. If you were here, you'd probably kick my ass from here to Sunday for even considering it. You're right, of course. That would be the real failure, if I just quit. Plus, we both know I wouldn't be able to just stop anyway. But now we're just back at the beginning.

This whole year that you've been gone- can you believe it's been that long? It'll be a year in a month and 4 days- I feel like I haven't been on solid ground. Things are always changing, shifting, taunting me with all the instability and change. Sure, I'm surviving. I'm still solving cases; I'm doing my job, but I'm always waiting for the next disaster. I can't prepare and I sure as hell can't stop anything that's happened since yesterday or with the Widow Maker murders. Just once since you left, I'd like to feel like I'm in control of something.

Tell me we're going to close the Widow-Maker case and that we're going to catch the sons of bitches who did this to us. Tell me that shred of evidence exists, that if I just work harder and smarter, dig a little deeper, I'll find it. Tell me I'll be able to give Claire back some peace and that I can give you a home you recognize when you come back. Tell me I'm not digging a hole in dry sand at the beach.

-Mac

* * *

IAL Soundtrack: "Phantom"- Dirty Heads, "Burials"- Dirty Heads


	11. Ch 11- A Ghost in the Crowd

A Ghost in the Crowd

M-

I saw you today. You were out by our favorite gyro stand getting lunch a few blocks from the lab. I had to time it right so I wasn't incognito from Thirio for too long. Luckily, you still go to lunch around 12:25, when you can manage to pull yourself away, even though you're probably starving. I'm glad to see you've finally taken my advice to feed yourself regularly. As soon as I saw you, I made my way over and slipped the note into your pocket just as you ordered your usual. I wanted nothing more than to just leave all of this behind and get lunch with you, just like we used to, but I knew I couldn't. So I left and watched you go back up to the office ten minutes later, like clockwork. It's good to know some things never change.

I got impatient waiting for the DOJ to include you in the loop about everything that's happening, so I decided to just tell you myself. I don't think you realized that anyone was next to you when I put the note in your pocket. I suppose that's good. It means my cover won't be broken and you won't have to see me like this.

You know, it's been almost a year since I left- nearly a month to the day. Normally I don't think of a year as being all that long, but I feel like I barely recognize anything here. Everything looks unfamiliar, cold, unforgiving. Actually, it's similar to how I felt when I got to Greece. Maybe the world is finally starting to look back at me the way I've been looking at it. I hoped I'd still have a connection to here, but I feel so distanced from everything. I guess neither New York nor Greece are quite home for me anymore, at least as long as I'm still Daria. Do you think that will happen with the team too when- if I come back?

I don't have much time to write- Ariadne and I are roommates for the foreseeable future; plus I've been around at least one other family member at all times since we left Greece a few days ago. I did the best I could though because I knew I had to get that note to you. I'm sure DHS has you and the team working round the clock since the first attack- no wonder why you looked so tired- but I need you to understand what's going on. I hope you read the note before it's too late. I'm sorry I couldn't write more- like I said, I don't have much time.

Everything's getting put in place. They won't wait.

I don't know what everyone's doing to prepare on your side- if the DOJ has any plans, they haven't told me; it's too risky, I guess. But if and when this thing is over, I'm hoping they'll find a way to get me out.

I think the radio silence with them is most disconcerting thing about this, second to trying to prepare you, of course. I mean, I have no back-up for when this all goes down so I have no idea if I can do anything to stop this. I can't very well put on a big show about blowing my cover and getting them all shipped off to Git Mo. Honestly, it's crossed my mind more than once that I won't be able to get out.

I have all these scenarios in my head for how this is going to happen and in several of them, I get arrested and tried for treason. I know there's a good possibility that I'll get captured along with the rest of the family and if the DOJ doesn't have a plan to get me out…

Oh no. Ariadne's coming back. I need to go. Please understand my note. Please help me end this. Please stop them…and me.

-S

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "Ghost in the Crowd"- Sister Hazel_


	12. Ch 12- Icarus

Icarus

Stella,

Did I see you today? Is that possible? I keep telling myself that it isn't, but I'm staring at this scrap of paper with your handwriting on it. It's our code. No one else would understand this except for us, so it must be you, right?

I'm trying to remember all the times I might have seen you today and I can't pin point one. Were you on the subway across from me this morning holding that hideous green coat on your lap? How about at the coffee cart wearing that red scarf? Or maybe you were at the gyro stand at lunch? Where are you, Stella?

I should tell you our luck is finally turning around with both of our cases. Flack and I collared the Widow Maker in Brooklyn on Monday in his old apartment. After his parents were killed, his sister moved them to this tiny, run-down apartment because she couldn't keep up the house. I still don't understand why he went back; the place was dingy, the stairs were falling apart, and there were rats everywhere. You'd think a person would want to get away from that as fast as they could and never look back. I guess, somewhere in that twisted mind of his, it was something of a home.

When we brought him in for questioning, he said he didn't think he'd done anything wrong. I know we always tell perps who sit in the box that so many guilty people have sat where they've sat, singing the same innocent song, but this one was different. He said he was looking for his sister. For whatever reason, he remembered our last victim's best friend Dana and called to meet with her because he thought she'd know how to help him. And, get this, we pulled a picture of his sister before her death and she resembled all of his victims. From what we can tell, they were all stand-ins for her after he lost her a few years after 9/11. Dana called me as soon as she hung up with him and told me the location where they planned the meet. It was almost surreal that after all this time, after all this effort, he just handed himself over like that. I will never stop being amazed at the irony of this job. He'll need a psych eval before we hand everything over to the prosecutor, but it's finally over.

I know this is probably going to sound strange, but as soon as we caught him, I realized what I always realize at the end of tough cases: that he's just a guy. He might have terrorized people for years, but he's just a guy with a bad temper and some serious psychological issues. He's not some all-powerful monster who's going to control my city anymore. It always feels good to hear myself say that, but this time, I think it's just a little sweeter. The cold cases always are when you finally solve them. I know you remember.

Then there's the lead we just got for the memorial bombings- turns out DHS, with Adam and Lindsay's help, dug up some threats from a syndicate of the Greek mob, based out of a night club in Athens. I believe the name of the club translates to "candy," which, honestly, is repulsive. Anyway, agents over at DHS originally filed the warnings of an attack and the family's "manifesto of revolution" in the crack-pot-and-hoax folder, but the mechanisms for the bombs and the trace Danny and Hawkes recovered from the scene got us the name. The group, the Saptakos crime family, apparently has been holding a presence in Greece for the past year with a goal to expand into North American markets. DHS didn't give them much credence at first because all of their activity seemed unorganized and nonviolent, but they certainly have our focus now.

I've got the team running down other warnings that might be related, plus anything that might be able to tell us where they are now. It would only make sense that they're planning something bigger and I need to track them down before they get anywhere close. Fortunately, nothing else has happened yet, but I know it's coming…

Hold on. You've been gone for nearly a year, Stella. Right around the time you left was when the mob started getting active. Oh no. No, that's impossible.

Then again, I thought seeing you would be impossible so…you were warning me about them, weren't you?

The symbol in your note meant to stay alert for something bigger to happen after the memorial bombings. _This _is what you were talking about. They sent you into the Saptakos crime family, didn't they?

God, Stella, what they hell did they get you into?

I suppose it makes sense, given your connection with the country; it obviously gave the DOJ what they were looking for in an asset. Logically, I understand, but the _mob, _Stella? Seriously?

I know there's some major security issues here, but I just gathered the team to tell them. I'll hold off telling Sinclair, but they need to know. You should have seen their faces. Adam and Danny actually thought this was some elaborate practical joke, Lindsay was in complete denial because of that package you sent her, and Flack and Hawkes…I've never seen them as stunned as they were. I'm not sure how long we all stared at each other, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I knew exactly what to do. I think I said something like, "we all know that Stella would say the best way to help her is to get a handle on this next attack and stop it. If we stop it, we can figure out a way to bring her back." I like to think bringing them back to thinking about how you'd react if you were with us motivated them to focus. After all, it's our first chance to fix everything that's gone so wrong since you left; I know none of us wants to screw that up.

We're running down as many leads as we can get and getting as much intelligence as possible on them. It would have helped if you'd been able to give us a location, but I know you probably had to keep it short, so don't worry; we'll find the answer. We'll find you.

We've already got a tactical plan together and we're putting all access points across the east Coast on high alert. They won't get in without someone in uniform noticing. I've also got people on docks and warehouses keeping a 24/7 lookout for anything suspicious as well as extra security at major events in all major cities. Lindsay's getting more information by the minute and she'll be in contact with us when we finally go in. I've got teams lined up so if anyone suspicious so much as sneezes the wrong way, we'll be ready to go on my command. All law enforcement agencies are in communication, so we'll know if anyone gets anything substantial.

I know it's not much to go on yet, but we'll find out, we'll go in, and we'll end this.

I'm sure you've also thought about what might happen if you're in the middle when it all goes down, but I don't want you to worry about that either. I know you, Stella. I will not let anything bad happen to you because of this. I will get you out and bring you home. It's what we do, remember?

-Mac

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "Icarus"- Bastille_


	13. Ch 13- It's What We Do

It's What We Do

"GET DOWN!" Mac roared at Flack and Danny as they crushed themselves to the pavement just as a grenade exploded from the other side of the Avalanche. Bullets continued dinging into the truck and crashing into the ground as they heard people shouting to each other in Greek. Mac's intuition was right when he'd briefed the team the night before about the attack being imminent. They were woken up in the early morning hours by a dispatch that one of Mac's stakeouts stumbled on men lugging a suspicious-looking object into a warehouse at the docks. Within minutes, the place erupted in gunfire and the team suited up to meet dozens of uniforms already on the scene, trying to provide back-up for the first-responders.

They'd already fought their way across the marina taking heavy fire. Lindsay and Hawkes, who were stationed safely in an armed command post a few blocks away, conferred with Adam at the lab and agreed that they'd likely find the boss in a massive warehouse slightly less than a quarter of a mile from where they started. While uniforms, FBI, and DHS took care of the building where the potential bomb was spotted, Mac insisted that his team find the boss and end it- it wouldn't do much good if they couldn't take care of the weed at the root.

"You all right, Mac?" Flack panted as he whacked Mac's shoulder lightly.

"Fine. You?"

"All good here," came Danny's drawl from the left rear tire. "I think we could use a better plan than this though."

They'd crossed the marina from the private slips to the commercial docking and unloading area with not much more than a few extra uniforms, their truck, and automatic weaponry. Unfortunately most of the buildings looked the same- standard concrete, rectangular warehouses that would have looked unwelcoming even if they weren't currently overrun by the overzealous Greek Mob.

"Agreed. We're at the right place right?" Flack said, nodding quickly at the building in front of them.

"We still have to find a way past the guards," Mac reminded them. He looked around at the scene before him from his limited vantage point crouching behind the front left tire of his truck. The sun glinted brightly off the metal and the soles of his shoes crunched on gravel when he moved. Although he couldn't see it, he could hear the gentle lapping of the waves of the bay against the docked ships between when the Greeks reloaded and when he, Danny, Flack, and a small army of uniforms returned fire. He ducked flush against the side of the grill and spotted a door into the warehouse that was propped open behind a handful of wooden crates. He saw two soldiers guarding it and several more in their path. It would be suicide to make a run for it. Fortunately for them though, they'd wedged themselves between the truck and the concrete wall of another building, probably a storage and holding facility for incoming and outbound shipments. They were at least protected from that side. _Thank God for small favors,_ Mac thought and then flattened himself against the tire when the gunfire started up again.

"Any ideas, Boss?" Danny shouted.

_Yeah, don't get shot,_ Mac wanted to retort sardonically, but held himself back. _Wait…_ "Flack, can you hotwire the engine? We can't risk getting back in to start the ignition."

"On it," Flack answered and folded himself onto the skid in front of the driver's seat, already yanking out wires and rerouting them.

Danny called over again. "What're you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we can use the truck as a battering ram as soon as they start reloading again. I've never seen their weapons before, but they're clearly a new model and have some bugs. It takes them a minute to reload. They're all in our path so if we hold on and floor it, we can take most of them out. The ones we can't, we'll shoot. From what I can tell, they've got about 350 rounds each and they're almost out. Get ready to move."

"Got it," Flack said and grinned when they all heard the uncertainty ripple through the mass of mob soldiers before them as the engine revved heartily. Mac crawled around to the open driver's side door and through to the floor of the car. He tapped Flack on the shoulder who counted down with his fingers when the bullets suddenly stopped: _three, two, one._

Mac shoved his hand on the accelerator and they lurched forward. Terrified shouts in Greek were heard around them as Flack and Danny returned fire and they hurtled toward the crates. Some of the mobsters dove out of the way with yelps and shrieks, but Flack and Danny effectively stopped them from getting up again. The truck suddenly spun violently when Flack threw the wheel to the right and took out the two guards in front of the doors effortlessly as Mac depressed the brake.

"Let's go!" Flack called as Danny and Mac followed him to the doorway. Flack counted down once again and he and Danny ducked into a dim and deserted room. Mac followed and searched the rafters carefully for any sign of life. Inside the empty warehouse, they had to squint at the minimal amount of light from the narrow windows near the roof. Broken tile and dust littered the floor as well as several unkempt squatters' discarded Styrofoam food containers, wrappers, and a shredded sleeping bag. It was clear this place hadn't been used for years, though Mac guessed that the Greeks were planning for this to be their next mecca of operations.

"Clear," Mac whispered as he finished a full circle of the room.

"Same here," Flack answered.

"Me too," Danny finished. "So, now what?"

Mac pulled out the map that Lindsay downloaded onto his phone. "It looks like we're in the main atrium of the building. The boiler room is off to the left and down a set of stairs; there are offices at the far end and a smaller storage and loading area down that hallway, which also leads to a stairwell and a second floor. Lindsay?" he called into the microphone around the inside of his wrist, "We need some intell; get me heat signatures, electromagnetic pulses, anything."

"Got it, Mac. Dispatch just informed us that the package down the marina was a decoy. We're scanning the building now to see if it's near you," she answered.

"Well, they can't be keeping it here, 'cause where is it?" Flack said.

"Maybe in a backroom? The boiler room might be the best place for it- the oxygen lines in there would send this place sky high," Danny mused.

"What have you got, Lindsay?" Mac asked into the mic again.

"Okay, I'm getting two heat signatures in the loading area down the hall. One is stocky and the other is thin. My best guess is that's your guy and a woman. They seem to be the only ones in the building except you. You're in the right place."

"Any sign of the bomb?"

"That's a negative, Mac," Hawkes's voice chimed in. "It's not here either."

"Damn," Mac hissed under his breath. "They're smart. They led us here so we'd be preoccupied while they set off the chain reaction somewhere else. Dammit."

"It's all right, Mac. Looks like DHS found one at the stock exchange, one in Central Philly, and a bunch in DC. I've got Langley, the Capitol building, the Pentagon, Quantico, all over. Our teams are in position, though they seem to be running into problems- these guys don't seem to know when to give up," said Lindsay quickly.

"All right, let me know when they've been disarmed. Let's move."

Mac, Danny, and Flack slowly made their way to the narrow hall and spotted a door at the end of it, a sliver of sunlight peeking out into the dim hallway. As they got closer, the unmistakable sound of flowing Greek from a deep, cold voice filtered into the hall. The silkiness of it made Mac have to suppress the shivers that wanted to run up his spine. But nothing prepared him for the voice that answered the man.

In perfect Greek as well came a woman's voice, as Lindsay predicted. But it was familiar: _Stella_, Mac thought. He froze.

Though he had no idea what she was saying, he recognized the sound of the language he always loved to hear her speak. While it normally sounded peaceful, even musical, to him, now she sounded icier, like the man. Even at her angriest, Mac had never heard her sound quite so…menacing, threatening. He felt his heart twist and his stomach tighten as he chanced a look at the detectives behind him. They looked just about as stunned as he felt: Flack's brow was furrowed deeply and Danny's jaw had gone slack enough that it was nearly on the floor. Mac felt fear slowly rising in his stomach, much like it had been wont to do since he received Stella's note warning them of an attack. He'd prepared himself for a lot when he started kicking his team in gear to bring her home, but he wasn't prepared for this. Despite everything he felt in the moment, he shook his head, forced himself to focus, and nodded to them again, encouraging them to move forward.

Mac closed the few feet between him and the door hinges to take a short peek into the room. From what he could tell, it was only slightly smaller than the atrium they'd just left and was just as dim as the rest of the building, save for a ray of sunlight illuminating Stella and the boss inside. Their conversation also seemed to be getting heated. He caught a glimpse of Stella's hands gesturing emphatically though her voice remained controlled and the boss retorted with a jab of his finger, which Stella swatted away. Her face turned away from him toward the door in exasperation and Mac felt his stomach clench harder as an unfamiliar pair of ice blue eyes met his for a fraction of a second. He saw recognition, surprise, and elation flicker through them for an even shorter moment. But that was all he got to take in when he heard a miniscule piece of glass grind under his foot.

The conversation in the room stopped for a second as everyone seemed to freeze in unison, barely daring to breathe. Mac didn't need to understand Greek to understand the boss's question: _Did you hear that?_

Mac barely heard Stella reply when Flack yanked him to the right and up the staircase they'd located on Lindsay's blueprints earlier. They climbed as quickly and as quietly as they could- until they reached the top and were met by several more soldiers. Mac reacted quickly and disarmed one of the younger and lankier ones without much of a problem, using the butt of the first soldier's rifle to take out two more. He choked out a fourth, broke the elbow of a fifth, and broke the knees of and knocked out a sixth, leaving him unconscious with what Mac hoped would be a severe headache and a case of whiplash when the man woke up.

Danny and Flack however weren't as lucky and were forced to discharge their weapons, adding to the already tell-tale sounds of a struggle. Then, shouts bombarded them as they were swarmed and captured by hands as tough as boulders that fastened ropes around their wrists behind their backs.

Practically thrown down the stairs and into the room, Mac stumbled with Flack and Danny behind him and got his first good look at the man who was responsible for all the destruction of his country and the woman next to him who was supposed to be Stella. But she wasn't Stella at all. Now that he could get a good look at her, it wasn't just her eyes that made everything in him run cold. She was dressed in all black and wore blood-red lipstick. And her hair. Her hair was as deep as midnight and was straightened so that it fell to the small of her back in poker straight, stagnant waves of pitch. She was dark. She was calculating. She was _cold. _She wasn't Stella.

The guards yelled to their boss haltingly, perhaps expecting praise for a job well done without wanting to seem overly proud of themselves. The boss ignored them and eyed Mac, Danny, and Flack suspiciously, rather like someone eyes a choice steak to decide whether or not it's worthy to be eaten. He was huge, hulking, with a bald head and tattoos covering his arms. His black shoes gleamed like Stella's hair and an eye patch tore a black gorge across his scarred face, leaving only one dark eye with which to complete his steely sneer.

_They certainly make mobsters differently in Greece,_ thought Mac wryly.

"Well well," he said, "to what do I owe the pleasure, New York's finest?"

Mac depressed the button on the mic at his wrist behind his back and hoped the soldiers behind him would still be too concerned with getting praise and new orders from their boss to notice. He needed to get information to Lindsay and Hawkes. "It's Thirio, correct?" he started. "You should know that your plan won't work. We're disarming all of your bombs as we speak. It's over. Time to give it up."

"You see, father?" the woman who was supposed to be Stella said with an affected Greek accent, "we did not account for the fallout from the attacks last week on the American monuments. This is what I was saying before. We did not give it enough-"

"Enough, Daria!" Thirio barked as he backhanded her across the face. Mac found himself actually thankful he was being restrained by the pair of burly hands and the ropes. He didn't have to worry that his instinctual lurch towards her looked too conspicuous when he felt his blood boil.

"She's right," Mac tried again. "We have too many resources. You won't be able to hop back on a plane to Greece or escape to Mexico. It's over." He prayed that Lindsay got his codeword. He needed her to tell him how many of the bombs had actually been disarmed before anything else could happen.

Thirio however didn't seem to be listening. He was staring at Stella…Daria with a new sort of recognition. "No," he said silkily, almost amazedly. "It cannot be."

Lindsay started speaking in his ear, but Mac barely heard her. It was clear that the situation was going south and fast- Stella was made. He couldn't be sure of what Lindsay said after this small realization as his mind kicked into overdrive for damage control. He thought he heard that the bombs in New York and Philadelphia had been cleared and they were finishing the ones in DC. _Just a little more time,_ he prayed.

Stella…Daria switched back to Greek, clearly trying to show her loyalty, but again, Mac didn't need to know the language to know what she said. With a raise of a sharp eyebrow, she asked what he was talking about.

Suddenly, Thirio closed the remaining space between them and seized Stella's…._Daria's _throat, right below her jaw. "Traitor!" he bellowed. "You are working with the American police! How much information have you been feeding them? What have you told them?"

She sputtered. "N-no! I am loyal! M-my parents-"

"You're lying!"

"No!" Danny shouted, only confirming Thirio's suspicions. "We have no idea-" He was cut off by a gag that his guard forced into his mouth at the command of Thirio's nod.

"So it is true." With a savage grin, he threw Stella off of him, who stumbled away to her knees, and pulled out a Glock from the waistband of his dark jeans. He aimed it first at Danny who set his jaw and struggled against his captor. Thirio cocked the gun. "We shall just have to dispose of all of you then. It is a pity, really. You were a good asset while you lasted. Now, who shall we start with?"

"No," Stella began with a note of reasoning in her voice as she straightened and refused to look at Danny in an attempt to salvage the situation. Thirio trained the gun on Flack instead.

She raised a hand, as if to put it on the gun and lower it herself. Sounding slightly more annoyed, she said, "No, just-"

And then Thirio turned on Mac.

"NO! No, I'm obviously the one you want. So shoot me! Just…not him!" Foregoing her cover completely, Stella's eyes widened in horror and darted back and forth between Mac and Thirio.

Thirio smirked, pulled the slide, and ejected the bullet from the chamber. Then he caught Mac across the temple with the butt of his gun. "How sweet." He returned the gun to the waistband of his jeans and nodded at his henchmen who scampered off down the hall, shouting excitedly. "What a lovely family reunion this is." Then he reached over to grab Stella again with impeccable speed, this time from behind, and wrapped a heavy, tattooed arm around her neck. He reached into his pocket with the other hand and pulled out a thin piece of black plastic with a red switch. "You should know, detectives, that there is a pressure-sensitive bomb somewhere beneath the floor of this building that also happens to be programmed to go off with this remote. It will set off the other devices that we have placed. I am the only one with control of the remote and who knows the way out safely, so you would do well to realize my advantage."

Mac forced himself to stay calm. He suddenly flashed back to a tough case Stella had years ago. He'd told her: "Use your head, not your heart." He shook his head to clear it of the memory, forced himself to not meet Stella's eyes, and pressed the button on the mic again to try to take his own advice. "Look, I'm telling you, it's all over. We've already disarmed your other weapons. Just put down the remote. There's nothing you can gain from detonating that bomb!"

"This is the spark that will ignite the revolution, Detective!" Thirio's good eye flamed wildly.

"Mac," Hawkes's voice said clearly in his ear, "The main oxygen line for the building runs directly under the room you're in. You need to get out. Now."

Flack and Danny seemed to have heard Hawkes as well and they inconspicuously started loosening the restraints around their wrists. Stella struggled against the arm and Mac could see that she was working out a plan to get away, waiting for a slight loosening of the muscle, a falter in Thirio's strong stance. He did the best he could to buy her some time. "Your revolution is over. Look, maybe you were here when the other bombs went off at Ground Zero and Arlington, maybe you weren't. Maybe you just ordered other people to do it for you. Maybe you weren't even in the country then. What I'm saying is that you don't have blood on your hands. That's not how you operate, right? So why start now? You want to blow yourself and four NYPD detectives away? You know what you'll go down as, don't you? A failure, a coward, a man who couldn't follow through on his plans. Is that what you want? Because that's exactly what happens when you flip that switch. Your men have been captured; all your weapons have been disarmed. You stop all this now, right now, and maybe you get to go home. Just put it down and let her go."

"You lie! All of you!" Thirio boomed. Stella seemed to have found her chance. She elbowed Thirio in the gut as hard as she could and knocked the detonator out of his hands. They both rushed for it, seeming to forget about the pressure detonator somewhere under their feet.

"Mac, go!" she yelled as she landed a punch to the side of Thirio's eye patch.

"Flack, get these ropes off me! Where's your gun?" Mac called.

"They took it, Mac." Flack said, freeing Mac and then moving on to untie the gag from Danny's mouth.

"Mac," Danny said slowly, rising and inching toward the door.

"Get out!" Stella screamed and shrieked in pain as Thirio's elbow connected with her head.

"Stella!" Mac yelled back, searching around wildly for anything within reach that he could use to pry Thirio away from her and the detonator.

"Mac," Flack said with a hand on his shoulder, "Mac, we have to-" but Mac shrugged him off and lunged toward Stella and Thirio who were now on the floor wrestling for the detonator.

"JUST GO!" she screamed again. Mac could have sworn he heard a metallic click through her scream.

Flack enlisted Danny's help this time, seized Mac by both arms, and dragged him out of the room and down the hall. "Stella! Stella!"

As they sprinted to the door, they heard one more scream and the unmistakable thunder of three gunshots in quick succession. Refusing to meet each other's eyes, Flack and Danny threw Mac outside and dove after him. Their only cover was the flimsy wooden crates when the building exploded behind them.

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "Precipice"- Battlestar Galactica Soundtrack Season 3, "Prelude to War"- Battlestar Galactica Soundtrack Season 2._

_A/N: I hope you all don't hate me for this, though I can't take full credit for this part of the story. A lovely and brilliant friend of mine from school came up with this idea, so we're sharing the blame at the moment! Also, sorry, Mac and Stella; you know I still love you! One last thing: as I'm sure you've noticed, we've made a pretty significant POV shift to a third person omniscient narrator. Just a heads up that it's going to stay this way until we get to the end. Thanks for reading and be sure to let me know what you think!_


	14. Ch 14- Silhouettes

Silhouettes

Mac's vision returned in blotches, though he closed his eyes again to block out the harsh white lighting shining on him that was doing nothing for his headache, to say nothing of the high-pitched ringing in his ears. He felt gravel and hard, packed dirt under his back. Slowly, he registered the sound of voices and realized that the blinding white light, which was sliding in and out of his vision rhythmically, was actually coming from Hawkes's pen light.

"Mac? Mac, it's Hawkes. Can you hear me? Mac?"

"Stella," he mumbled in response. "Where's…Stella?"

"Just…take it easy, Mac. There was an explosion. You got out just in time, thanks to Flack and Danny."

Mac groaned as he sat up and nearly retched from the searing pain in his head.

"And you've got a concussion," Hawkes said, pushing on his shoulder firmly. "You need to lie back and stay still until EMS gets here."

"No, I need," he groaned again as he felt the pain from several broken ribs, "I _need _to find Stella. Where is she?"

Hawkes shared a look with someone Mac couldn't see. Then he heard Flack's voice.

"She uh…we don't think…well, what I mean is…"

Lindsay hiccupped from somewhere behind them as well and Danny's whisper answered her with a gentle "shh, shh."

Mac stared up at Hawkes. "No. No, that's impossible. No." He struggled to his feet, fighting the pain in his body. "She's still in there. We have to find her. Hawkes, get my spare piece in the van." He looked around at his team's fallen faces. "Why aren't you doing anything? Stella's still in there, dammit! We can't just leave her!"

Flack limped over to him, his right arm in a makeshift sling. With his free hand, he spun Mac around. "Mac…there's no '_there' _to go back to." And that's when Mac saw it: they were gathered by the bay about 100 feet away from the burning, decimated warehouse with its spiraling clouds of smoke and licks of flame that had to be at least thirty feet tall.

"Well, she could still be-" He remembered the confrontation then: Flack and Danny dragging him away, Stella's screams, and then those shots and the final explosion. But he refused to believe that she'd been inside when it had gone off. She must have gotten out. She _had to. _"There was a back door we didn't see," he yelled. He wanted to shake Flack until he got him to move, regardless of whether or not they'd almost gotten blown to smithereens. "WHY AREN'T ANY OF YOU DOING ANYTHING?" When they all refused to meet his eyes, he made up his mind. "Fine. _I'll _go."

He shoved past Flack, fighting the dizziness in his head and pushing the pain in his ribs away as he only vaguely registered the shouts of the emergency teams surrounding them. A light breeze from the bay brushed against him and he watched as it only fed the flames ahead of him. He stumbled past police cars and FBI trucks, barely recognizing his own bullet-ridden Avalanche still parked where they'd left it earlier. Though, he couldn't be entirely sure that this was the same place- there was no doorway there anymore and the crates in front of it were strewn in splinters among bullet casings and other shrapnel from the blast. The clinical part of his brain told him that there was little promise of anything still living in that ruin of the warehouse, never mind anyone surviving the fire eating away at it. He pushed that thought away too. Stella was still alive. It didn't matter how far gone the scene looked or how she'd changed or what she'd had to do while she was gone. She was _home. _He was going to find her and taker her home.

He stumbled as an open hand connected with his chest. "Detective, I'm sorry, but you can't go in there." A sandy-haired man in a black windbreaker with the letters "DHS" emblazoned in yellow on the breast fought to meet Mac's eyes that were still dividing their time between the fire and the door that had been there not long ago. "You _all_ have to stay out here."

Mac turned and found his team behind him. Danny held onto a tearful Lindsay, wincing only slightly at the gash in his forehead; Flack limped over and stopped a step behind Mac; and Hawkes, in the best shape of all of them, stood behind Flack looking utterly lost as to whom he should help first.

"No," Mac said firmly turning back to the DHS agent determinedly, "my partner is still in there. We're going to find her."

"Look, I'm sorry to hear about your partner, but _my_ guys can't even go in yet. We have to get control of the flames and then we have a protocol to follow-"

"Screw your damn protocol!" Mac roared. "I'm going in. We're all going in! Stella Bonasera is still in there. She would know to hide, to take cover. _We're going in_!"

"No you're not," the DHS agent pushed firmly on his chest again. "This building is structurally unsafe and we don't need any more casualties on our hands. If there's anyone left in there who survived, my guys will find them. Now, I suggest that you return-"

"Casualties? _Casualties!_ You son of a-!" Mac lunged forward, but was caught by Flack's good hand on his shoulder.

"Mac! Mac, Mac. Hold on, okay? Just hold on." He got in front of him to try to take Mac's murderous gaze off the DHS agent. "Agent Wilber is right. We can't go in without getting more injured that we already are. And what if you're right? If Stella's still inside, what good are you going to be to her if you get trapped by a flaming rafter or something? You're right, Mac. It's Stella. She's too damn stubborn to go out like this. But let's just wait for DHS and the fire department to do their jobs."

Mac's jaw set tightly and his hands balled themselves tightly into fists. He felt his breathing get ragged as he watched the fire crew shouting orders to each other, dousing the flames with all the water they had. Mac had a half mind to walk over there and do it all himself, to just sidestep Flack and DHS and find Stella without their help or their ridiculous protocols. But then he felt his body sway slightly as the adrenaline seeped from his system and the fuzziness crept back into his head fervently.

"Whoa," Flack said quietly and stuck out his good hand like he was expecting a handshake. "You need to breathe, Mac." Mac glanced down at Flack's arm and ground his teeth tightly for a second, fighting back the anger and utter hopelessness that rushed over him from not being able to save Stella or do anything for her. Then he reached out and grasped Flack's forearm tightly.

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, Mac just watching the flames rising into the sky and Flack holding him up by one arm, trying not to make eye contact with the rest of the team for fear he would lose it himself. Finally, the firemen seemed like they had the fire under control when Agent Wilber called over. "We're sending in a team now. I'll be able to give you reports as we clear the building. If your partner's in there, we'll find her."

Flack opened his mouth to say something; Mac guessed it was going to be something reassuring about Stella's well-being, and he felt the rage build inside him again. So he did something he rarely did to keep himself from mowing Flack down and marching into the remains of the warehouse himself- he started talking.

"Beirut was a lot like this, you know," he started heavily. "The shootings, the explosions, the bodies, the yelling. The search parties. Especially the search parties. But you know what I remember most? The fire. Not even the smell of burning flesh, just the smell of _burning._ I used to love it, the smell of burning wood, especially during the winter. But you go to war and they tell you that you _see things_ in combat. The blood, death, it's all around you. They say you never forget it. But they don't tell you about the fire. I told Stella about it when you and I got trapped that office explosion a few years ago. I told her about the corporal I couldn't save because not knowing if I'd gotten to you in time just made all those memories come flooding back. It's the same damn thing all over again," he finished lowly, no longer seeing the guts of the warehouse or the concentration of Flack's face. He just stared straight ahead over Flack's shoulder seeing nothing of the world around him and wanting to be back in those uncomfortable hospital chairs with Stella bringing him coffee and offering a gentle hand on his arm as he told her about Corporal Whitney.

Before Flack could open his mouth to speak again, Agent Wilber's walkie-talkie crackled to life. Their heads snapped over to him. "You got something, Granger?" Wilber said into the walkie-talkie.

A bit of static answered him, then: "That's a negative, sir. I've got a huge blast pattern where Detective Flack noted the boss and the woman were fighting. There's no way anyone could have survived that."

"A back door!" Mac croaked. "What about a back door? Check the surrounding area! She would have gotten out!"

"Hear that, Granger?"

"Yes sir, but we tested the time it took for Detectives Flack, Taylor, and Messer to cover the distance from where they started to where they ended when the explosive detonated. There is no other door within reach in that amount of time. Like I said, they're gone, sir. There's no trace of them."

The grip Flack had on his arm was suddenly not nearly enough anymore and Mac dropped to one knee. Now squeezing Flack's elbow for all he was worth, Stella's name forced itself from Mac's lips in a strangled whisper. "No, no, no, nononono," he said quietly, raising his free hand to his forehead. "Dammit, dammit, no, no," he cursed, "please, _please, _no. Stella, Stella. I didn't- I never- why didn't I- and now- dammit, I never told her. I never told her. _Stella."_

Flack didn't need to ask what he meant as he listened to Mac's whispers and Lindsay's wails. He watched as Sheldon sunk down to the ground as well, holding his head in his hands. Danny held Lindsay to his chest as his own tears fell into her hair. Flack felt his own shoulders start to shake and he returned Mac's grip, letting his body fall to his knees and his head drop in defeat.

Not long after they let the weight of the situation crash down on them, he felt Mac suddenly stiffen and take his arm back. Stoic as ever and no longer incoherent, Mac rose to his feet and simply walked through the crowd of firemen, DHS, FBI, and NYPD to their command post where he climbed in to the passenger seat and waited. Flack was next and slowly, they all moved together back to the van. Hawkes silently took the driver's seat and, without a word, they left the tattered remnants of the Greek mob behind them.

0o00o0

Back in Mac's office an hour later, the team gathered and sat silently, their eyes staring either at the floor or at the blinking lights of city night life out of Mac's window. Flack sent Jo home after informing her of what had transpired at the scene, knowing that, even though she'd been working a few other cases in addition to this one, no one would be doing any more work that night. On her way out, she'd handed him a final report on the Greek Mob to give to Mac which was still sitting on his desk. Finally, Mac cleared his throat and stood out of his chair.

"Jo reported that all the intended targets were disarmed and all members of the Saptakos Crime Family, as well as affiliates from the Greek families in New York and Philadelphia, were either killed or detained. As of now, the most powerful syndicate of the Greek mob has been neutralized," he said flatly. There was almost no reaction to the news. His eyes wandered away from his team for a moment to a picture of him and Stella at the Children's Christmas Benefit from almost two years earlier that was sitting on his desk. Their contented smiles and joyous hug ate at him so powerfully that he almost slammed it face-down on his desk. Instead, he forced himself to look up and continue in a quiet, but steady voice. "These next days are going to be hell." That seemed to get everyone's attention. "We all know that. It's not going to be easy and it's not going to be kind. Normally, I might give you a lecture on staying objective and doing your job anyway, but not tonight." He sighed.

"Tonight, I'm telling you all to go home, be with the people you love, and then come back tomorrow." He made himself look into the eyes of each person there with him. "I once told Stella that I wouldn't do this job without her," his voice hitched, but he cleared his throat and plowed on, "but tonight I'm telling all of you, I'm making a promise to each of you, that I will be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. I'm making you a promise that I'm going to show up because we all need to be here for each other. This is unbearable, but we're all going to survive because that's what we do." _We take care of each other,_ finished Stella's voice in his head.

He cleared his throat again. "I'm her…next of kin so I'll be making all of the…arrangements. I'll keep you all informed."

"I'll help," said Lindsay tearfully but firmly. "We all will."

Feeling slightly overwhelmed at the simultaneous nods, Mac held up a hand. "Let's just…go home. Let's take this- I need to take this slowly. So let's all just go home." He watched them nod again and stand. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Mac," each of them answered quietly and filed out of his office. He watched them make their way down the hall to the locker rooms exchanging hugs, supportive shoulder squeezes, and pats on the back.

"Hey Mac," Flack, who was the last one out, stopped at the door, getting Mac's attention again. "Look, it's going to be a crap night for all of us and I'm thinking about spending mine with some bourbon. Want to join me?"

Mac tried to smile as best as he could. "No thanks, Flack. This is something I need to do alone. For now, at least."

Flack looked at him hard. "See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow."

Satisfied, Flack closed the door behind him and, watching him go, Mac had a half mind to settle down in his chair and spend the night in his office like he always did when he couldn't stand to go home to an empty apartment. Eyeing the firm leather though, he suddenly wanted nothing more than his own bed. He tore his coat off the rack in the corner, stabbed at the lights with his fingers, and took the stairs to the parking garage rather than trying his patience to wait for the elevator. Suddenly, getting home was a priority: he could feel the anticipation positively gnawing at his insides.

Immediately opening his front door, the darkness and emptiness of his apartment knocked him backward. It was like the morning he'd come home to find that Stella had already left, when her presence in his home was still so real that it felt like a dream to have her gone. He flicked on the lights and threw his coat on the couch unceremoniously, suddenly knowing what he needed to find. He ran to his bedroom and yanked the drawer out of his side table, dumping the contents onto his bed. It was fairly empty, so the things he wanted weren't difficult to find: he letters he'd written to her since she'd left; Stella's first note to him, the one that told him to wait; and then her second, just the symbol for a sforzsando that told him to expect something big; and finally, he dug into his pocket for her badge. The gold captured the lights from the street below that leaked in through his blinds and he ran his fingers over the engraving that was her badge number. He'd intended to give it back to her, to return some of what she'd lost after they'd ended the whole mission.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

He sunk down to the mattress, holding her writing and her badge tightly in his hands. She was supposed to be with him. He was supposed to have brought her home. She would have washed that dye out of her hair and let it kink up into those unruly curls again. She would have taken off those clothes and that lipstick and thrown out those contacts. Then he would have held her, felt the warmth of her body next to his, promised her he would always be there, listened to her promise him the same thing. They would have laid on this bed together, just holding each other, listening to the other's heartbeat, like they always had so they could remind themselves that they were both very much alive.

But that wasn't how it was happening. He hadn't gotten her out and the agent said there was no trace of her left. That couldn't be right. There was no trace of _Claire. _Not Stella. Never Stella. Claire was dead. Stella couldn't be. How was this happening a second time?

Stella was _dead_. He would never hold her or joke with her or talk out tough cases and relationships with her or hear her laugh or watch her dance or feel her next to him again. She would never make him watch ridiculous movies or take him to see a Broadway show or show him her newest favorite restaurant. He'd never hold another door for her or touch the small of her back to guide her or feel like he could do anything because she was always so strong. She'd never argue with him or challenge him. He'd never take her to another dog show. She'd never tease him about his ties. There would never be another crisis to work through or another goal to work towards. He'd been right earlier when he'd told Thirio it was over. He just never expected it to be like this.

He felt like he wanted to claw his own heart out of his chest. He wanted to yell and throw things and sob until he couldn't anymore. But he found that he couldn't do any of those things, so he settled for the great, heaving, silent sobs that rose through his body. Stella was gone. He would have held her forever if he'd just gotten her home.

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "Among the Ruins"- Battlestar Galactica Soundtrack Season 4, "I See Fire"- Ed Sheeran, "A Promise to Return"- Battlestar Galactica Sountrack Season 2, "Deathbed and "Maelstrom"- Battlestar Galactica Soundtrack Season 3, "Silhouettes"- Of Monsters and Men, "500 Miles"- Grey's Anatomy cover_

_A/N: __"__Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them—in order that the reader may see what they are made of."- Kurt Vonnegut._

_I originally wanted to wait awhile longer before posting this and a teaser of the next part, but I realized how cruel that would be to all of you. Plus, I can't wait to hear your thoughts so stay with me; I promise it's not as bad as you think!_


	15. Ch 15- Pompeii part 1

Pompeii

"Watch her," Theo ordered gruffly as Stella felt Koza's and Nick's hands release her into the tiny, dank room that had become her home. She landed on the stone floor and coughed from the harsh shock of the ground against her body. She wanted to push herself up, but found that she had little strength to do so, gritting her teeth against the sharp pain in the wounds on her arms from Ariadne's knife. She felt a trickle of blood across her nose as she lay on the cold stone, welcoming it after the fire that had just been roaring through her body from Koza's electrocution "treatment". What she wouldn't give in that moment to turn that damn dial on _him. _

She felt torn: part of her wanted nothing more than to outlaw electrocution, even for the worst death row inmates, because no one should have to die this slowly and painfully; but the other half, the half that she'd met when she'd pulled the trigger on Frankie and that she'd almost befriended over the past year, wanted to relish in the revenge of _their _cries of pain. Most of all though, she felt helpless. Despite how often the feeling crept up recently, it never got any easier. It didn't matter whether she was Stella Bonasera or Daria Hallas- she didn't do helpless. She didn't wait for someone else to save her. There was always a way out. Hating that she seemed to be useless at finding one, she felt her blood boil for a completely different reason than the torture she'd dealt with for three days. Stella tried to squeeze her eyes shut, but instead snapped them back open when she felt a sharp pain in her head from the elbow to the eye she'd taken during the struggle with Thirio in the warehouse.

She stared at the stone wall across from her, trying to focus on something other than the smolder of pain in her body. She followed the trails of water that snaked down it with her eyes and forced air into her lungs, ignoring the stabbing pain in her ribs from Nick's beatings. And then she thought of Mac. Although he'd been bloodied and beaten when she'd last seen him, he was certainly not defeated. The firmness of his voice, the strength and sheer relief in his eyes when he saw her, how they'd automatically slipped back into working as a team even after a year apart were ultimately what comforted her. Stella allowed her mind to wander, calling up the little list of memories of things Mac had said to her that she remembered whenever she needed to remind herself of him.

Still following the water with her eyes, she almost heard Mac say, "I appreciate you too, Stella." "You're the strongest person I know." "I guess I just needed to hear it from you." Replaying his steady voice in her mind, she allowed the exhaustion to overtake her and lull her into sleep.

"Use your head, not your heart." Stella startled herself awake. She was sure she'd heard Mac right next to her that time but as she slowly pushed herself to a sitting position, she realized she was still alone. She inched toward the nearest wall and rested against it, letting out a heavy sigh at her spent energy. It took nearly everything she had to move no further than two feet. She raised a hand and pushed it through her mangled hair, wincing as the strands found the slices Ariadne had inflicted on her palm.

Suddenly, she saw a person's back standing watch at the door: Loukas had taken up his usual post. She'd learned to recognize everyone in the family by how they carried themselves so she was sure it was safe for her to be a bit more liberal with the freedom she took inside her tiny cell while he was out there. She slowly attempted to rise to her feet, but Loukas heard her before she'd gotten up past her knees. His wavy dark hair swooped in front of his eyes and did nothing to hide his concern as he looked in at her. He glanced on either side of him and covertly dropped something through the narrow bars.

It took her some time, but when Stella made it over, she noticed it was a small hunk of bread. She picked it up and tore off a piece.

"I am sorry I could not bring you more," said Loukas so quietly that Stella could barely make out the words. "I still have much to practice with bringing things to their prisoners."

Stella smiled. "No. Thank you, Loukas. I appreciate what you're doing. Really."

He returned her smile. "I am sorry I cannot do more. I cannot bear to listen to what they are doing. But you know this."

"Yes," Stella replied. "I know. You're not like them, Loukas. Look, when I get out of here, I'm going to do everything I can to bring you with me. You don't deserve this kind of life."

"I am afraid I cannot. I know my parents would be ashamed of me and Ariadne, but I cannot leave."

"Your parents would be proud of you, Loukas. You have a good heart where most people don't have one at all." She stopped for a second. _Use your head, not your heart. _A determined smile spread over her face then and she had to lean against the wall for support at the excitement she felt.

Loukas suddenly looked concerned. "What is it?"

"I'm fine, Loukas. Better than I have been in a long time, actually."

His look changed to bewilderment. "What do you mean?"

"I have a plan. I can get us both out of here. Do you have a cell phone?"

He reached into his pocket and held it out to her.

"No, no, it's important that you do this, exactly how I tell you to, all right?"

"But, I cannot."

"Yes you can, Loukas."

"They will kill both of us."

"There won't be anyone left for either of us to worry about after I'm finished with them. Now, here's what I need you to do…"

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "All Along the Watchtower" Battlestar Galactica Soundtrack Season 4_


	16. Ch 16- Pompeii part 2

Pompeii

Mac sighed heavily as his fingers hovered over his keyboard, waiting for the words to come on his latest report. He'd been stuck in meetings with the brass and the government for the better part of three days giving his statement and answering questions about Stella's…the ordeal at the warehouse. He'd insisted that his team start taking on new cases and, after full days of meetings, decided to try taking his own advice by joining one of Lindsay's. It was a slam dunk, which he supposed couldn't have been better for morale: it reminded him that justice and the universe were fair every once in a while.

Still, the report wasn't any easier to write and he'd told Lindsay to go home early and spend time with Lucy. On her way out, she'd stopped by his office twisting her fingers and gesturing with her hands as she spoke. He'd known what she wanted to ask him and he'd answered her as he'd been answering everyone else: considering recent events, funerals and memorials were difficult to arrange and everywhere he went seemed to be flooded with other people's loved ones. "This happened when Claire died too," he'd told her as nonchalantly as possible, "everyone was so swamped with the fallout from 9/11 that we had to wait. I'm taking care of it."

This was a lie of course and he could tell Lindsay and the rest of the team knew it. He couldn't find the words to say how grateful he was that they were letting him do this in his own way. They weren't pushing him but he knew that if they did, the least of his problems would be this damn report because he wasn't sure he could bear to plan Stella's memorial.

He sat back in his chair, dragged a hand over his face, and sighed again. Lindsay's question made him break an important rule he'd made for himself during the first night…after. He was determined not to think about Stella or what happened at that warehouse while at work. It was nearly impossible of course, considering how he still saw her around every corner or heard her laugh at one of Adam's childish jokes, but not bringing her up in conversation allowed at least part of his brain to focus on his job. The problem was that wasn't the way it was working out after Lindsay's question; not after Sid's sympathetic gaze when he'd visited the ME's office earlier that day, and certainly not after he'd stumbled on poor Adam wiping away tears in the break room at lunch.

The dreams he was having didn't help either. He always thought of her before falling asleep; he'd found it comforting to think of the way her hair smelled or the way her hand felt resting on his chest the night before she'd first left for her assignment. But now, it didn't matter if they were pleasant dreams of just being in her presence or nightmares of what happened at the warehouse; he would wake up with an ache in his chest so strong it felt like he was being cleaved in half. The pain dulled slightly at work, but only just so, so that once or twice he'd had to go outside to stop himself from having a panic attack.

The only time he allowed himself those moments of weakness- the panic attacks and the tears- was when he was at home. He was determined to be the pillar of strength that Stella always was for the members of the team who were left.

But Lindsay's question had spawned the start of both of those things and he found that he couldn't avoid them this time. He stood out of his chair, finally giving up on his report, and closed the blinds so passersby wouldn't be able to see him. Then, he locked the door and collapsed heavily on his couch, his head in his hands, trying to keep the feelings controlled as much as he could. A moment after he sat down though, he rose to pace briskly around the empty space between his couch and his desk because he remembered that time after he and Stella had returned from Greece and sat on that couch so she could read his coffee grounds. He remembered the warmth of her hand on his back, her cheekiness as she read the grounds, the sound of her laugh in his ear, the wide grin on her face- it was too much. He'd been asking himself since it happened how he was going to live without Stella. She was always the one who brought him back from all this, taught him how to live again even when he thought it was impossible. How was he supposed to do this on his own? He paced quickly to the rhythm of his heart and then, bit by bit, willed himself to slow down and clear his mind. Soon, he stood looking out the windows to the city below, taking deep breaths and pinching the corners of his eyes.

Just then, his phone pinged, telling him he had a message. Cursing dispatch at that moment, he roughly picked it up and stabbed at the screen. What he saw nearly sent him into another bout of hyperventilation. The message wasn't from dispatch. It didn't even have words. It was just a small symbol from a number he didn't recognize. But he understood it immediately because it was his code, _their _code. It meant "keep going" and "I'm still here".

Mac charged out of his office then. "Adam!" he called, bursting into A/V.

Adam flinched noticeably in surprise and answered breathlessly, "Yeah boss?"

"I need you to run a trace on this." Mac pushed the phone at him.

"New case?" He paused. "Wait. Isn't this your phone?"

"Just run it."

"O-okay." He plugged the phone into the computer, skated over a few keys, and turned back to Mac to wait for the software to run. "What's going on, Mac?"

Looking him squarely in the eye, Mac replied, "Stella."

Adam stared back, slightly slack-jawed. He looked down at Mac's phone on his desk and back at his boss. "Um-"

"Yes, she's alive. That message is from her."

"H-how can you be sure?"

"It's our code, Adam. It's her. Can you trace the message?"

"Um, uh," the computer beeped, giving him his answer. "No, it looks like it's untraceable."

"Well, turn the phone on remotely, backtrack off of cell towers, something."

"No, no, boss. The message originated from a burner phone, one that's probably been scrapped by now."

Instead of looking disappointed, Mac just seemed to get more excited. "Do you know what that means, Adam?"

"Uh, that we can't track where the message came from?"

"No, that _Stella's still in the mob."_

"We have to reopen the case," Adam added slowly.

"Exactly," Mac said and seized his phone off of Adam's desk. "I need to take this to Sinclair, get everyone back on this. While I'm gone, I need you to find a way for us to locate the burner phone the next time Stella sends a message. There has to be a way, Adam. Find it. We're going to bring her home."

Adam watched Mac dart out the door and run to the stairwell. With an amazed chuckle, he sat back down at his computer and wracked his brain for a way to make this work.

Mac raced across the street, took the stairs to Sinclair's office two at a time, and ignored his secretary who put up no more resistance when he came barreling through than a feeble protest of "you can't go in. He's in a meeting". He pushed open the door and started in immediately. "Chief-"

"Taylor? What the hell are you doing here?" Sinclair even seemed to forget the DHS and FBI agents sitting across from his desk.

"It's Detective Bonasera. She's alive."

"What?"

"I just got a message from her." Mac brandished the phone at him.

"What the hell is this?" Sinclair repeated.

"It's our code. She's telling me she's still alive. Our best guess at the lab is that it came from a burner phone, which means that she's still with the Greek Mob. We need to reopen the case and go after her." Mac said forcefully.

Sinclair sighed. "Taylor, look, I appreciate that this is a rough time for you, but the case is closed. The Greeks have been neutralized. Detective Bonasera is gone."

Forcing himself to stay calm, Mac tried again. "It's our duty to find her. If she's still with them-"

"-They would have killed her by now. Come on, Taylor. You and Flack said her cover was blown in that warehouse. Now, what makes you think they would keep her alive after that? Have you considered the possibility that this…message…whatever it is, is a copycat? Someone could have cracked your secret smoke signals and this is their idea of a very cruel joke."

"They need her alive!" Mac raised his hands and his voice as if Sinclair was missing the most obvious thing in the world. "If everyone thinks they're dead, they can take as much time as they want to launch another, bigger attack to start their damn revolution. They need her because she has access to government-secured information. And no one knows about our code. It's her."

"Taylor, I'm sorry, but I can't reopen an investigation without solid proof. We have no idea if it's Detective Bonasera on the other end of that message, we don't know where it was sent from, and we don't know that the mob is still active."

The FBI agent spoke up. "He's right, Detective. By all accounts, there is no one in the Greek mob left. Everyone was killed or taken into custody at the docks."

Agent Wilber, the DHS agent who barred Mac and his team from reentering the warehouse, leaned out from behind the FBI agent. "I was there, Detective. You heard my guys. There was no back door. They couldn't have escaped. It's over."

Mac looked at each of them, hardly daring to believe how little they cared as he felt his blood simmer dangerously. "Fine," he said after a moment. "I have some vacation days saved up. I'll be taking them." He turned on his heel to walk out, but Sinclair stopped him firmly.

"Denied. I need you in the lab, Taylor, not gallivanting around on a hunch."

After another look at each of the men before him, Mac knew exactly what he had to do. "Fine," he repeated. Then he walked up to Sinclair's desk, unclipped his badge from his belt, and slammed it on the mahogany desk. "Consider this my notice."

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "Kara Remembers"- Battlestar Galactica Soundtrack Season 4_


	17. Ch 17- Pompeii part 3

Pompeii

As soon as he left Sinclair's building, Mac was on his phone. "Adam, the meeting was a bust. Look, I need you to send around a message to everyone to meet at my place tonight. 8 o'clock. Got it? Good." He marched home with his mind preoccupied. As his mind brainstormed ideas, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Stella's answered him and shot them down. _You can't trace a scrapped burner phone, Mac. Try again…the warehouse was blown to pieces; there's nothing left to find there…They won't go back to any of their old haunts now that you've caught them. You know that._

Finally, he reached his building and stomped up the stairs, still working on his plan. As he unlocked his apartment door, an idea occurred to him and he stared at his key in the lock for a moment, continuing to think through it. He slowly shrugged his coat from his shoulders and stood at the window in his living room, alternating between watching the city life below in the waning light and looking into the reflection of his own eyes. _Actually, _Stella's voice in his head said pondering his plan as well, _that might work. It's a long shot, but it just might work. _He smiled at his reflection.

It seemed like no time at all from when he'd sat down at his desk to write down his plan to when his team was gathered across his couch and loveseat exchanging worried looks at Mac's sudden change in demeanor. He'd known he'd been distant since the warehouse and his zealousness now was clearly a surprise for them. He placed the piece of paper he'd written on, on his coffee table and started into the story. Once he'd covered everything, there was a brief moment of silence and he was sure they were all wondering whether or not he'd actually gone crazy this time. Then, they all launched into questions simultaneously.

"Mac, are you sure?" Lindsay asked.

"What'd it say?" Hawkes sat forward in his seat.

"Sinclair's reopening the case?" Flack chimed in.

Mac raised his hand to quiet the excited chatter. "The message was sent in the code Stella and I developed our first year on the job together, so yes, I'm sure it's her. She wants us to know that she's still alive and that we should keep going with the case. And no, Sinclair won't reopen the case. But that doesn't mean we can't."

His team stared at him, dumbfounded once again.

"You're saying we're going rogue?" Danny clarified after another short moment of them questioning his remaining sanity.

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."

Mac paused while they absorbed this new information that they seemed to be wrestling with. Though after another few seconds, grins started to break out on all their faces and he knew without a doubt that they were just as committed to this plan as he was. Before anyone could start in with questions again, Mac continued. "I know this isn't going to be a popular decision with the brass and it's not going to be easy with the mob either. There's a good chance we won't get as lucky as we did at the warehouse. So, I need you all to think carefully about what you'd be doing. This could mean losing your job." He looked at Danny and Lindsay furtively. "It could mean that Lucy loses a lot of people close to her. But if you're sure that you want in, then we can't waste any more time." He looked around at his team. When no one moved or spoke up, he kept going.

"Okay. Now, we're not going to have any uniforms for back-up this time so I need all of you in the field with me, except Lindsay and Adam. You'll be working on finding our exact location and getting us as much intell as you can on the place once we're there. I don't want any surprises this time. Adam, did you figure out a way to track them down the next time they make contact?"

"I've got a pretty good idea, Boss, but how do we know there'll be second contact?"

Mac held up his phone. "Stella sent us this message for a reason: to let us know that she's alive, but also to prepare us for another clue. She'll contact us again. We can be sure of that. Can you access the system to triangulate remotely?"

"Definitely."

"And invisibly?"

Adam pulled out his laptop and smiled. "Way ahead of you, Boss."

"So, what do we do until we find the place?" Danny asked.

Mac handed his phone to Adam. "There's a good chance that we won't get anything until Stella contacts us again so starting tomorrow morning, we take out two cars and spiral out from known mob locations to search the area. It's entirely possible that they won't have returned to any of those places now that the surviving members know we're onto them, but it's a good place to start until we can get something else, like when Stella makes contact again. Adam and Lindsay will have a list of all these places and buildings in the area, which they'll cross check with a location as they trace the information from my phone. No one moves in until we're together."

"And equipment?" Flack said. "We're gonna need a lot of fire power."

Mac went to his desk, rifled around in a drawer, and held out the precinct's arms locker key to Flack. "Get whatever we need."

Flack nodded. "Understood."

"Okay. Go home; get some sleep. We meet back here tomorrow at 8." Mac watched them rise and get ready to leave. "And everyone? Thank you."

He watched his team leave and settled on his couch with a pad of paper and a pen, trying to draw out more of a plan. Most of this was going to have to be decided in the field, but he mapped out various scenarios to prepare himself for war. There was no way he would leave Stella behind again. They were going to find her and they were going to get her out.

* * *

IAL Soundtrack: "Pompeii"- Bastille


	18. Ch 18- Pompeii part 4

Pompeii

Sipping coffee and ordering Flack to check his phone every few minutes, Mac drove around the city the next morning, scrutinizing the roads and the buildings around him. Flack was poised next to him scanning heat signatures inside each building they passed. "Getting anything, Adam?" Mac barked into the microphone around his wrist.

"Still nothing, Boss," piped Adam tiredly. When they'd met at Mac's apartment earlier that morning, Adam had told him about a plan he'd thought of to find the location where the message had been sent from without actually needing Stella to reach out to them again. He wanted to try to match the signal from the message to the output from the place where the message originated. It sounded rather impossible to Mac, but he was willing to try any of Adam's ideas.

"Lindsay?"

"Sorry Mac; I'm looking at the heat signatures Flack's sending over, but I'm not matching anything to the ones we found at the dock warehouse. You were right about the normal haunts being deserted." Lindsay's plan seemed just as inexact a science as Adam's- identifying and matching heat signatures to the results she'd found at the docks- but again, Mac wasn't going to turn down any possibility that might lead them to Stella faster.

"You've got blueprints of every building in the area?" He continued and heard the familiar beep of the computer as she flipped through them.

"Yep, all here. We just need to find the right one."

"A needle in a haystack," Flack grumbled as he squinted at a scan from an old department store.

Mac glanced sideways at him, trying to stay positive. "More like building in a city."

That made Flack chuckle. "All I'm saying is, there's got to be a better-"

Suddenly, Mac's phone cut across him and Mac nearly swerved out of his lane in all his excitement. "We good, Lindsay?"

"Yeah! Go, go!"

He pressed the Bluetooth on the steering wheel. "Taylor."

Instead of a direct answer, he heard shouting in Greek and a piercing scream in response. _Stella. _He jabbed the mute button and tried to stay calm as he felt his heart skip a beat or two at the sound. "Adam?"

"On it, Boss!"

Clanks of metal, more screams, and sadistic laughter filled the silence in the car. Mac gritted his teeth and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles where white.

"Adam!"

"Okay, okay…I've got it! It's an abandoned fish market about seven blocks from you! Turn right at the intersection ahead! I'm sending the rest of the route to Flack now."

"Hawkes, Danny? You got it?"

"Got it, Mac," Hawkes answered.

"Same here," Flack said, checking his phone. "Take a left up here."

"Remember, sirens off. I want a silent approach," Mac ordered and forced his foot up off the accelerator to avoid screeching through the turn.

Five minutes later- which was five minutes too many for Mac to listen to Stella's screams- they found a deserted parking lot in front of what looked like an old daycare and parked under the cover of several trees. The daycare was a block and a half east of the fish market and they used the space to suit up. Flack opened the trunk of Mac's Avalanche and distributed guns of various calibers to the rest of the team. "Take all the mags you need," he said as he stuffed three extra magazines for his rifle in pockets around his vest and six extra for his nine millimeter into his pants pockets. Mac spoke into his mic once he was fully stocked. "What do you have, Lindsay?"

"There's an entrance to the fish market just to the right of your approach, Mac. It's guarded by two soldiers and leads directly to a wider hallway with several offices and storage spaces and then loops around the building. The fifth door on the right of the west hallway looks like it's where the action is going down. I've got about seven guards on patrol- two in the north corridor, two in the west, one on both east and south, and one standing just outside the door of the main event. There're six bodies in the main room, four of which look active; the other two, not so much. I've also got four guards on a second floor balcony. You can get up there using a staircase at the corner of the north and west hallways. It's currently unmanned," Lindsay reported.

"Any sign of explosives?"

"That's a negative," came Adam's muffled voice, a clear sign that he was holding a pen in his mouth. "They've kept this one clean."

"All right," Mac started, "Flack and I will take north and west; Danny, you and Hawkes take east and south. We meet back up at the stairs to take out the guards on the upper level. Stay as low and as silent as you can. Remember, we maintain radio silence unless it's absolutely necessary. They seem distracted by whatever's going on in that room, but no mistakes here, got it?"

They cocked their guns. "Let's move."

Danny and Flack went first, sticking to the sides of buildings as they navigated around the block. They ducked behind some shrubbery as they approached the market on the side and easily surprised the guards at the entrance, taking them out without any commotion at all. Hawkes and Mac followed them into a narrow entrance way and immediately ignored the flickering light that greeted them. As Lindsay said, the entrance way opened up to a larger hallway with little to no cover about a hundred feet in. Silently, they split up. The first guards rounded a corner then, but Mac and Flack took full advantage of their silencers. Leaving the bodies, they continued on and came across two more guards who seemed to want to take the stairs to the balcony. As they shot both of them, Mac caught a glimpse of a young guard standing tensely in front of the door Lindsay mentioned. He watched the man flinch and look away as the bodies dropped. He tapped Flack's shoulder and gestured to Danny and Hawkes who were rounding the corner to approach the soldier. As they closed the distance with their guns raised, the man's face paled and he held up a cell phone that was currently making a call. Mac took it from him and noticed the ID: _Legato_, it said; another message from Stella.

Mac looked at Hawkes and Danny who nodded, letting him know it was safe to talk if they kept their voices low. "What's your name?" he whispered to the man who looked even more like a boy close up.

"Loukas," he said. "She told me to call you the next time they did it."

"Who?"

"The American. Stella."

"Loukas. You might have just saved her life. What I want you to do is go outside and around the corner and call 911. Can you do that?" This might have been an illicit mission on his part, but Mac decided he'd deal with Sinclair later. The least he could do was get this kid out of here to somewhere safe before anyone realized he was gone.

Loukas shook his head. "I can show you a better way to get upstairs. They will see you if you take that way." He nodded at the stairway to their left.

The rest of the team glanced back and forth between them, wondering if they could trust him. Mac didn't have to wonder though- if Stella trusted this kid enough to give him instructions and he actually followed through, that was all Mac needed to know. "Show us."

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "Kara's Coordinates"- Battlestar Galactica Soundtrack Season 4_


	19. Ch 19- Pompeii part 5

Pompeii

Stella's throat felt like it was shredded as Koza finally turned down the current for a break. She tried to catch her breath, but her broken ribs from Nick's latest beating were betraying her. Closing her eyes against the pain and tasting the harsh copper of blood in her mouth, she listened to Thirio laugh heartily at her from his throne at her feet. He jeered at her in Greek, though she didn't pay much attention to what he said. Theo however, responded enthusiastically, calling her several nasty things that didn't have a direct English translation and that would have earned him an unforgiving dose of pissed-off-Stella if she'd had the energy and the ability to speak.

She heard the clink of Ariadne's knife as she set it down on the slab of concrete next to Stella's left elbow and made her way over to Nick, cooing about his beaten knuckles. Stella willed herself to think of Mac in an effort to stay conscious.

As she tried to tune them out, she heard something that wasn't part of the usual routine when they brought her in this room to be tortured. It was a thud. A light, almost imperceptible thud of a human body falling to the floor. A few seconds later, she heard it again. And then, she opened her eyes.

Her captors were still having a good laugh at her expense, but she paid them no attention. Instead, she looked up at the balcony where she was accustomed to seeing the muzzle of a gun in each corner. It had actually become sort of a game to her, recognizing who was positioned where. Just laying prone as she was, the guard in the corner above her right foot always held his gun just slightly off its mark and the one to the left shifted often as if he could never get comfortable.

Now though, the guard holding the gun across from her right foot had trained his aim unflinchingly at Ariadne who was still hanging off Nick's arm. It was definitely not the same person. _Mac is here,_ she thought and felt a new wave of energy fill her body. Her injuries, including a dislocated left shoulder that she'd sustained that morning, still throbbed painfully, but she commanded herself to stay alert, despite the exhaustion that threatened to shut down every nerve ending and muscle in her body. _Use your head, not your heart._

Stella knew instinctively that the next move was on her: if Mac and the rest of their team started shooting now, it was likely they'd be ambushed: Thirio and his men packed heat wherever they went, including in their own home, and they were fast. Then she remembered Ariadne's knife by her elbow and that's when she had a plan. She coughed painfully and swallowed in an attempt to make her vocal chords work.

"Thirio," she choked out, gathering her energy and steeling herself, "it's over."

He and his cronies laughed again. "That would be a pity, Detective, if you gave up on us so soon. I thought that we were having fun."

"I didn't mean for me." And then she picked up the knife in her right hand and threw herself off the concrete slab at Koza. He was so startled that she was able to sink the blade into his neck easily. The team started firing from above her as Ariadne came at her next. Just as Stella sliced, a bullet caught Ariadne in the back. She threw down the knife, picked up a spare rifle that Theo dropped when a bullet settled in his chest, and aimed it directly at Thirio.

As quickly as it started, the shooting was over: Stella stood opposite Thirio, who had found a gun of his own and was now training it back on her. She took quick stock of the scene: while she had taken out Koza and Ariadne, her team had gotten Nick and Theo.

"You're outnumbered, Thirio," she said, now doing some jeering of her own and using the adrenaline that was masking the radiating pain to her full advantage. "You should have listened the first time. It's over. Put down your weapon."

"I do not think so!" Thirio boomed.

"Your entire family is dead! The rest of your ranks have been captured or killed. You have nothing left. Now put down your weapon!"

Instead, Thirio released the bullet currently in the chamber and cocked the gun again. "If you shoot me, you will pay dearly."

"Empty threats, Thirio. Give up."

Thirio raised the rifle to his shoulder with a sneer, but neither Mac nor Stella let him get any farther than that. The echoes of their shots reverberated off the walls of the abandoned building simultaneously as they both pulled the trigger. The bullets found their mark and Thirio was dead before he was thrown to the ground by the force of the impact.

Up on the balcony, Mac stood silently, stunned at the realization that it was over. _They'd done it._ Then Danny gave a whoop and Flack let out a single bark of astonished laughter that their plan worked. Mac wanted nothing more than to jump over the railing right then and there to get over to Stella. Instead, he just started walking, faster and faster until he handed his gun off to Flack in front of a staircase that led down to the first floor. Mac raced down the stairs intent on getting to Stella, but stopped a few steps away from that dreaded slab of concrete decorated with smears of her blood to take in her appearance.

Her hair was in tangles and matted with blood. Her face and arms were cut and scraped and her body was hunched over the rifle still clutched in her hands- the tell-tale signs of broken ribs. He'd never been so glad to see her. She stared down at the body of her ex-boss with a blank expression and Mac knew not to startle her by going directly over. Finally, he said quietly so as not to scare her, "Stella."

Her head darted over and her eyes- her beautiful, but now haunted, intense green eyes- held his for what felt like an eternity. Then, moving slowly so as to not to aggravate her injuries too much, she clicked the safety on the rifle into place and leaned it against the foot of the slab. Her left arm, which he now saw was situated at an awkward angle, curled around her stomach and she took a step- more like a limp, really- toward him, her eyes still blazing. She limped a few steps further while Mac closed the remaining distance in four long strides and gathered her into his arms. "Stella," he whispered into her hair.

"Mac," she said and circled her right arm around his neck as she buried her face in his chest. Her grip wasn't as strong as he remembered, likely as a result of her injuries, but he held her as tightly as he hoped wouldn't hurt her.

After a moment or two, he felt her start to shake in his arms and he tried to loosen his grip, but she held onto his shirt with her good hand, keeping him where he was. "Stella," he repeated softly. "Let's get out of here. Get you someplace warm."

She nodded into his chest, but folded herself into the crook of his arm as she let him lead her outside.

Although the spring day was warm and only had a slight breeze, Stella shook even more when Mac pushed open the steel door to the warehouse with his free hand. The sunlight seemed to blind her and she curled into his side more as if she were trying to fight off the sounds of the crowd of law enforcement around them. Mac released her reluctantly into an ambulance so they could wrap a blanket around her tattered and singed clothing. He'd wanted to stay, but a uniform insisted on getting his statement. Thinking that it would be better if Stella wasn't there for the rehash of what had just happened, he apologized and told her he'd be right back and to let the EMTs do their job. His heart fell when that didn't get more than a small upward twitch of one corner of her mouth.

She'd exchanged hugs with the rest of the team and let the EMTs poke and prod her. Their pen lights shone in her eyes and their blood pressure cuffs compressed the slices on her arms. She inhaled sharply and dug her nails into her palms at that, but remained still and answered their questions. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and she leaned heavily against the door to the ambulance, watching Mac give his statement to the uniforms nearby. He had a gash and a nasty bruise on his head that were healing, likely from the explosion at the warehouse four days ago, but other than that, he seemed fine. The scene was comforting to her as she thought back to all those times when she'd been among these cars and blazing lights and endless questions as a detective. This was her life, she realized, but backwards.

EMS had left her alone, but that was last thing she wanted. She wanted to be in the middle of the action as herself again. _But who is that? _She kept her eyes on Mac who looked back at her every few seconds as if he was reassuring himself that she was still there. She felt her breath hitch and the world spin slightly. She took a few deep breaths and willed him to come back over to her. As if sensing her thoughts, he excused himself immediately and hopped into the back of the ambulance with her, allowing her to shift and rest against him again. He wrapped one arm around her and took her hand with the other. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, calming herself.

"What'd they say?" She asked after getting herself under control and a few moments of letting herself enjoy the feeling of him holding her.

"Hmm?"

"The unis you were just talking to. How pissed is Sinclair?" She was surprised at how easily it came to her still, though it felt surreal.

He chuckled, inexplicably glad that she hadn't forgotten anything about home. "We'll live. How about you? What'd EMS say?"

He felt her smile slightly against his shoulder. "I'll live."

He couldn't help it: he leaned down and kissed her hair and she felt her heart flutter. "They want to take you in for observation, don't they?"

"Mm, more like debriefing after a healthy dose of Tylenol." He almost sobbed at her attempt at humor. _Stella is back. _

"Detective," said a firm voice from ahead of them breaking through the bubble they'd created for themselves in the midst of the chaos. "It's time." She recognized the DOJ agent as one of the ones who had picked her up at Mac's apartment and she couldn't help but wonder what she'd called him when they first met. That day seemed like another lifetime, the start of another lifetime, that wasn't hers to live. Her heart plummeted into her stomach with dread, but she shushed Mac with a squeeze of her hand and a heavy sigh when he opened his mouth to argue. _This_ was the last thing she wanted. Sitting with Mac made her feel like it was really over and that she might actually be okay. It seemed easier with him, to finally be able to process everything that had happened since she'd been called away. And here they were again: her being summoned away from him and neither one of them could do anything about it. She knew she needed him, but she rose into a straighter sitting position and pulled him into a hug with her good arm, willing the strength she'd gotten from him in their short reunion to be enough. "Intermezzo," she whispered in his ear.

"Intermezzo," he whispered back and helped her out of the ambulance. She squeezed his hand again and gave him a look that told him she wanted nothing more than to stay with him, to go home with him, to let him help her. But she turned away and followed the DOJ agent into the sea of red and blue lights.

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "Escape from the Farm"- Battlestar Galactica Soundtrack Season 2, "Assault on the Colony"- Battlestar Galactica Soundtrack Season 4, "Never Let Me Go"- Florence and the Machine_


	20. Ch 20- Saying Maybe part 1

Saying Maybe

Mac scowled at the dishes in his kitchen sink. It had been another long day at work and he wanted nothing more than to sit back on his couch with a cold beer and a good book. And Stella. It had been almost three weeks- two weeks, six days, and fifteen hours- since the day at the fish market where they officially stopped the last of the mob from concocting any more plans. Two weeks, six days, and fifteen hours since he'd last seen Stella. Mac considered them lucky that day- without Stella's help on the inside, who knows if she would even be alive right now. That was something Mac told Sinclair when he reported to his office that afternoon after Stella had left with the DOJ agents. While he was expecting a royal chewing out, Sinclair merely looked at him, slid his badge across the desk, and said, "You two make a hell of a team." Mac was sure the stunt wouldn't be looked at kindly by the review board in the future, but he couldn't have cared less. Stella was…alive. He wanted to say "out of the mob" or even just "safe", but he couldn't be sure that either of those things were the case.

He blew out a lung-full of air and set to work on his dishes, ignoring the stiffness in his back. What bothered him the most was that there were only the dishes he used for himself. It wasn't that the number of them was just enough to be an annoyance; it was that, even after all this time, it was still just him. Alone. In his apartment, not sure if his best friend was safe, and doing the dishes for one person, as always. He sighed heavily again and started attacking a particularly stubborn spot on a spatula when there was a knock on his door.

Startled, he dropped the spatula into the sink and heard it clang as it bounced against the metal. He turned off the water and dried his hands, listening for the knock again, but it didn't come. Warily, he made his way over and looked through the peep hole only to feel every nerve ending in his body fire in shock. He opened the door and took a good look at the woman in front of him. Her left arm was in a sling, her face was covered in tiny bandages and cuts, but her hair was as wild and curly as ever and her warm green eyes shone at him.

"Hi," Stella greeted quietly.

"Hi," Mac replied. After a moment of staring at her, half wondering whether or not this was a dream, he wordlessly stepped aside so she could cross the threshold into his apartment.

She gripped a bag tightly in her good hand. "I hope this is okay. I…didn't want…couldn't go home. I-"

Mac reached forward, gently took the bag from her, and gathered her in his arms. He felt her let out a breath in relief as she returned the hug with her good arm, letting her fingers run through his short hair. "You're here," he whispered into her hair.

Stella found she could only nod against the lump that formed in her throat.

He pulled away then. "Let's sit."

She nodded and let him lead her with his hand on the small of her back to his living room. He set her bag by the coffee table as she sat stiffly. He glanced into his kitchen and frowned at the bright light still on over the sink. "I was just finishing the dishes," he said. "I can make tea." She nodded again and stood to follow him into the kitchen. "Stel, it's okay. You don't need to help. I'll be right back."

"No, Mac…I don't want…if you're going to be in the kitchen, that's where I want to be," she said, once again in that small voice that he never thought suited her. He'd only heard that voice a handful of times in all the years he'd known her and he felt his stomach tie itself into an uneasy knot knowing that whatever treatment she'd received for her physical injuries had done nothing to repair everything else she'd lost while she was away.

She sat at the table while he started the tea and got back to the dishes, feeling her eyes on him all the while, both asking him for something and avoiding doing so. He was at a loss for what to say though- he was simply reveling in the fact that she was _here _after all this time and trying to steer himself away from the nagging thought in his mind that she might not be here for good. When the tea kettle sang loudly a few minutes later, he pulled out two mugs from a cabinet and took a good look at her again, noticing that _she _wasn't really there. The woman he called his partner had been replaced by another person who kept tracing the pattern of one of his placemats with the tips of her fingers.

Mac placed the mug by her fingers and took the seat next to her. She looked up then, her eyes filled with tears. He felt his heart flip- she wasn't going to tell him that she had to go back, was she? He reached forward and took her hand. Her grip was strong and she seemed to be working through how to say something so he waited patiently.

"Mac," she said thickly, "the assignment…it's over. I'm finished."

He felt his shoulders drop in relief. "You're out? You're back?"

A rueful smile flickered across her mouth and she sniffed. "I have clearance to come back to work, but I wouldn't say that I'm out."

"What do you mean?" he asked as dread filled him again. _She just said she's done…_

"I mean, I don't know if I'll ever be able to get out. The mission's done; I can be a detective again, but I don't think I'll be able to get out." _Oh. _She looked at him desperately and her already small voice took on a breathy quality as if it were a huge effort to get the words out. "While I was…away…I became this other person who did all these awful things, but I'm not sure that it wasn't also _me _who did them_. _How am I supposed to do this, Mac?" She took her hand back and dropped her head into it.

Mac slid his chair over to her and placed a hand on her back, still not sure what to say. But he remembered all those other times she'd sat with him after one of them had gone through hell and he reminded himself that this, just sitting with her, had been enough. He prayed that it still was. After a few minutes, Stella spoke again. "I have…I have a feeling." She looked at him hopefully, her eyes pleading with him to understand.

He shifted so he sat in front of her, raised a hand to her face, and felt his heart squeeze when she gasped, closed her eyes, and flinched away almost imperceptibly. Knowing he should go slowly, he waited until she had settled down again and rested his palm against her cheek so he could brush his thumb under her eye gently, catching the runaway tears that still leaked down her face. She opened her eyes then and took a deep breath, as if to remind herself of where she was.

"I get those," Mac answered her quietly.

"What do you do about them?"

He smiled gently. "If you wait long enough with the right person, it passes."

Her shaking fingers covered his still resting against her cheek. "Will you wait with me?"

"Of course."

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "Turn and Turn Again"- All Thieves, "Dark Side"- Kelly Clarkson_


	21. Ch 21- Saying Maybe part 2

Saying Maybe

Mac wasn't sure how long they sat at the table together drinking the tea he'd made. Actually, Stella seemed to forget the mug in front of her and preferred to hold onto him instead. When the steam over their mugs started to die down, he felt her begin to shake next to him so he shifted to hold her as she closed her eyes again and started taking deep breaths to calm herself. He hated that he had no idea what was going on in her head and, as a result, had little clue of how to help her. There was little he could do and they both knew it, but when she turned her face into his neck and squeezed her fingers around his arm again, he knew that this was enough.

He'd abandoned the untouched mugs of tea on the table when they agreed silently that they would both be more comfortable in his bed. He picked up her bag for her and gave her privacy in the bathroom. He could tell when she hurried back to him that the separation was too much now that they were together again. He settled down with her, not daring to close his eyes until he was sure that she was asleep. It took some time with them both not speaking, but the grip on his arm loosened and her breath against his neck evened out.

Even when she woke up later, jolting him out of a light doze with just a change in her breathing, they stayed mostly silent. Mac was accustomed to the nightmares that usually followed things like this so he did the only thing he could think of to take her out of wherever her mind had sent her back to: he tightened his arms around her and whispered her name.

Stella wasn't sure what she'd been dreaming about, but she could hear Mac's shout of pain echo in her mind from the last moments of the nightmare. She felt the sheer terror rise in her, making her lightheaded while her legs and arms seemed paralyzed. But then his whisper, with its deepness and strength and gentleness, cut through all of it and told her that whatever she'd been dreaming wasn't real. For a year she hadn't slept properly, always on edge for things to come and she'd had to trust her memory of him to calm her down when she had nightmares that just wouldn't go away. She'd told herself she'd see Mac soon, but until that moment, hearing his voice next to her in the dark, she'd started to think returning home was a foolish promise to keep to herself. Lying next to him though, she felt her racing heartbeat slow and the lightheadedness start to dissipate when she knew for sure that he was there and she let the thought carry her back off into a dreamless sleep. "Mac," she whispered back.

Thankfully, she slept the rest of the night through and let the sunlight filtering in through his window slowly pull her back to consciousness hours later. When she cracked an eye open, she noticed that they hadn't moved from the position they settled into the night before. Her injured arm rested between the curve of her front and his side and his hand lay lightly on her shoulder. She watched his face on the pillow next to her and saw the worry lines and wrinkles there, even in sleep. His mouth was curved down slightly in a frown, but she had to admit that he looked peaceful and she felt a lightness in her chest at the thought that her presence might have something to do with it. He sighed and his eyes opened slowly to meet hers. He blinked and smiled and she leaned in to rest her forehead against his cheek. She realized then that her mind wasn't working on overdrive and that her body wasn't wound tight enough to snap, as she'd gotten accustomed to. Instead, she felt calm, serene, content.

They stayed like that for some time, still not talking, watching the room get brighter and brighter with the sun. That was something she'd learned from Mac: words weren't always necessary and that when you let the world around you just be, you knew that whatever happened in those moments meant something.

When Mac touched his lips to her hair what seemed like several peaceful eons later, she knew it meant that it was time to get up. She smiled and followed suit, letting him use the bathroom while she stretched and picked through the clothes in her bag. She heard the shower run briefly as she debated which top to wear and held them both out to Mac when he emerged a few minutes later, running a towel over his damp head.

He considered for a moment and then said, "The green one."

She put the other one back and stepped around him into the bathroom. "Don't you have work today?" She called from the other side of the almost-closed bathroom door.

"I called Hawkes last night when you were using the bathroom. He's going to take care of things," Mac answered over the sounds of drawers opening and closing.

She poked her head around the door. "Thank you, Mac."

He flushed, but returned her smile. "Pancakes sound good?"

"Like you wouldn't believe!" She closed the door then and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water fall onto her injured shoulder. She knew from experience that days like this didn't come often after a year like she'd had. There would be more bad days than good, but she knew better than to worry; for now, she'd take the contentment at being exactly where she was with the man she was with.

After breakfast, she helped him put the dishes away and he couldn't help but smile at how ridiculous it seemed that he'd been griping over doing the dishes alone the night before. Now that she was with him, the loneliness he'd felt seemed like it belonged to a different person.

"I saw the boxes in your closet when I was getting dressed," she said as she slid a bowl back into a cabinet. "It's like you knew or something."

He hitched up an eyebrow. "Like I knew what?"

"That I wouldn't want to go back to my place when I got home."

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. "Stel, I've been to your new place. Even I hated it."

To his relief, she laughed that musical laugh that he loved.

"See, you can't come up with a good argument against it!"

After a moment, she cocked her head to the side in agreement. "Yeah, it was pretty terrible, wasn't it?"

"Should've taken my offer to stay here when you moved the last time," he teased. "I _know_ you don't snore."

She blushed. "You did make the offer at a crime scene. You should have seen Flack's face _and _heard the gossip around the office for months after that." She leaned against the counter. "For a bunch of detectives, they're not exactly subtle at covering their tracks."

It was Mac's turn to blush now. "I uh-"

Stella laughed again. "Don't worry, Mac. They're harmless."

He cleared his throat. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"Honestly? I wouldn't mind just staying here. I don't know when the last time was that I just got to sit and not worry about…anything."

"Fine by me," he said, not sure when the last time was that he'd gotten to do that either.

They spent most of the day on Mac's couch finally making a dent in the movie collection he'd been neglecting for years. Stella knew why he'd barely touched it- Claire loved having movie nights and she was sure sitting on a couch alone watching a movie Claire had picked out wasn't high on Mac's list of priorities. Stella only had one condition: no action, thriller, horror, or anything that involved a lot of gunfire or crime. That left their choices largely in the romantic comedy section that Claire had amassed. Stella remembered Claire kicking Mac out of the apartment on a weekend so the two of them could watch some of Claire's favorites and sob over Stella's homemade brownies. Because of that particular memory, Stella was sure Mac would be bored out of his skull within the first twenty minutes of sitting down with her, but he surprised her when she'd apologized guiltily after they finished _The Proposal. _

"I know these aren't exactly your favorites, Mac. I'd watch something else if I could-"

He shook his head, "They're fine, Stel." He got up and made his way into the kitchen. "Tea?" he called.

"Sure! Thanks." She scoured the various DVDs before her, trying to pick the next one when she heard a loud clatter of dishware from the kitchen. She hurried in after him and found Mac standing in a pile of upset pots and pans, holding a brownie mix box with a sheepish smile on his face. The concern Stella had a moment ago morphed into a giggling fit that had her cursing him. "Dammit, Mac…you're not supposed…to make…me laugh." He joined in, stepping over the collection of cookware at his feet and setting the brownie mix safely away from him on the counter.

"I remembered you like brownies…" he said when he'd gotten himself under control.

Stella wiped the tears from her eyes and gave him an empathetic look. "That's sweet, Mac. Why don't you let me do it?" She made her way over to the counter while he cleaned up the dishes and pulled out the tea bags from the cabinet. "Can you bring me the eggs?" She asked.

"Sure, hang on." He handed her the carton a second later and she opened it and tried to crack the egg one-handed. It smashed into the counter and coated her palm.

Stella stared at her hand for a moment and Mac, who was leaning against a chair waiting for the tea kettle, leaned over her shoulder. They looked at each other and a second later fell into peals of laughter again. Stella leaned back against him and he wrapped his arms around her waist to steady her.

"Maybe I should do that," he grinned as he swept the mess away with a paper towel. He cracked a few eggs into the brownie mix and looked back at her. "Are we sure this is such a good idea? I don't want _my _apartment to burn down."

Stella laughed again and smacked his arm lightly. "You promised me brownies, Taylor." She made her way to the singing tea kettle and gingerly filled both of their mugs. Once the hot water was safely out of her hands, she eyed him mischievously. "Plus, we always have _my _place to go back to."

The look on his face as he stopped stirring the mix and stared back at her was one of pure terror. "Oh God."

She grinned cheekily and patted his arm as she passed with her tea. "I'm going to pick out another movie." She settled herself on the floor of his living room, picked the next movie she wanted, and loaded it. "You coming, Mac?" When he didn't answer, she made her way back into the kitchen to see him staring at the oven intently. She raised an eyebrow, went to stand next to him, and looked between him and the oven and back again. "What are you doing?"

Ever the master of stoicism, he answered without taking his eyes off the oven, "I'm watching to make sure it doesn't spontaneously combust. I happen to like my apartment."

She rolled her eyes and tugged at his arm. "Come on, Mac. We'll set an alarm," and she pulled out her phone to prove it.

He sighed heavily and let her pull him back to the couch, only to hightail it over to the brownies when her phone beeped twenty minutes into _Tangled_. She paused the movie to wait for him with a wide smile. He immediately held a full plate of brownies out to her when he returned.

"Mmm, thanks."

"You're welcome," he said, settling down next to her and taking one for himself. "Cheers," he said holding the corner of his brownie out to her, still with that stoic expression. His eyes gave him away though as they sparkled at her.

Stella shook her head amusedly and gave him a look that told him she was onto him. "Cheers." It was only after they settled back into the movie that Stella felt him chuckle.

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "End of the World"- Dirty Heads_

_**A/N: I hope you had as much fun reading the silliness in this part as I had writing it! I know I'd give anything for something like this to have happened on the show!**_


	22. Ch 22- Saying Maybe part 3

Saying Maybe

In the early evening, they stopped for dinner and discussed their favorites among the movies they'd watched earlier in the day over Stella's favorite dish of Mac's. Although he'd been adamant that he hadn't teared up at the ending of _P.S. I Love You, _Stella mercilessly insisted that he had over her chicken and linguini. As Mac replaced the tongs into the salad bowl after placing some on her plate, she caught his gaze.

"What?"

"Thank you," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "For the salad?"

"No," she said, laughing lightly at his bewilderment. "Well, yes. But that wasn't what I meant. I meant for this: yesterday; today; hell, the past thirteen years. All of it."

He looked away shyly, but met her eyes again a moment later. "It's what we do, Stella." His voice was quiet and tentative, but sincere.

They shared an easy smile and Stella felt the butterflies erupt in her stomach. Mac often had a knack for repeating things she'd said back to her, but she also knew that he wasn't just saying any of it. The smile on his face, the words out of his mouth, that sparkle in his eyes- he meant it all. And she knew that he didn't just say or do this sort of thing on a whim. Mac never did anything without a purpose and he never said anything just to be polite.

Stella looked at him across the table, taking in a rare moment when he wasn't on guard against everything around him, when he could just sit and be and nothing else was required of him. Her eyes traced the line of his jaw as he chewed a tomato and noticed the wrinkles that were beginning to form at the corners of his mouth and eyes. They traveled down to his hands, deft and firm, graceful and strong all at once, as he tried to spear a piece of lettuce hopelessly drenched in salad dressing. She sighed, not bothering to hide how much she wanted to feel his hands again- holding hers, caressing her arm, threading themselves through her hair. Before, she might have hidden it, but now…now those fears of rejection all seemed trivial. She made up her mind and knew exactly what she wanted. She put down her silverware with a slight clank against her dish and stood.

Mac looked up then, startled, and hitched an eyebrow. "Stell?"

"Wait here. I'll be right back." She walked to his room where her bag was and took out a large envelope from beneath her clothes. She held it out to him as she walked back into the kitchen.

Mac wiped his mouth with his napkin and took the envelope from her. "What's this?"

"I can't talk about it yet, Mac, but I want you to read them."

A slow grin formed on his face as he placed the envelope on the table and disappeared into his room for a moment as well. When he returned, he handed her a carved wooden box. "Mine too. But maybe the couch would be more comfortable?"

She nodded and they cleared the table hastily to make their way back into his living room. They sat on the couch together and Stella gingerly opened the box. "Ready?"

Mac nodded and they both pulled out stacks of paper emblazoned with each others' handwriting. Stella leaned back against the arm rest of the couch and stretched her legs, already engrossed with Mac's first letter to her, dated the day she'd left a year ago. Mac immediately moved to accommodate her, allowing his hand to rest on one of her calves that were stretched across his legs. She felt him tense every so often as he read her letters describing the details she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to repeat aloud. She read through his, remembering the Widow Maker case from years ago that cropped up again and felt a bit guilty that she hadn't been there to work through it with him. She remembered Mac keeping the file in the corner of his desk along with the rest of the cold cases that haunted him and was relieved when he wrote that they'd finally gotten to the bottom of it. She even felt her heart skip just a bit when he wrote that it was no thanks to the former FBI woman he'd gotten to fill her place while she was away.

Eventually she got to the last letter and noticed the date- the day before he and their team ambushed the fish market to shut down the mob for good:

_Stella,_

_ I'm not sure exactly when it's going to happen, but I know we're going to find a way to get you out. I wish circumstances were different, of course; I wish the last year hadn't happened at all, but even though the world might fall apart at any second, I can't help but be excited to see you. You know that I'm not very good at this kind of thing, but I wanted to tell you. Claire always joked that she carried the romance in our relationship. And I remember you saying I "have no game whatsoever", which is probably accurate, but I'm going to try anyway. I miss you, Stella._

_ Sometimes I feel like I can't go another day without seeing your face, hearing your laugh, anticipating a kiss on the cheek when you're happy. I miss your graceful walk, the little bounce in your curls when you're walking somewhere quickly, the sparkle in your eyes and the smirk that your mouth gets when you're teasing me about something. I miss everything you are, everything you do. You're the strongest, kindest, most fiery, positively maddening person I've ever met. You have this amazing capacity for love and a resilience I've never seen in anyone else. You challenge me to be better and I know that I can be because you believe it. After Claire died, you didn't just save me- you showed me how to save myself and you never left my side. The person, the man I am today is because of you, because you showed me how to live again. You're extraordinary to me, Stella. _

_ I can only imagine what this year has been like for you, though I almost wish I couldn't. I know that you've probably had to do terrible things, but I want you to know that it's okay. I also know that you might have no idea who you are anymore and I want you to know that's okay too. We'll deal with it together when you come home, just like we always have. I know I'm not always very good at that either, but I know we'll both be okay. It's just, for that to happen, you have to come home. So please, come home. I'll be right by your side to help you through whatever ungodly things they made you do and I'll remind you every day of the amazing, extraordinary person you are. Just, please come home. You've saved me so many times, Stella; now it's my turn to save you. I promise you that I will do everything I can and then some to bring you home. _

_ I'm not very good at saying what I have to say, so I think I should just say it, the reason that I'm making you these wild promises and telling you the absurd little things that I miss about you. Except those promises aren't wild and those little things aren't absurd. They're beautiful and incredible, just like you. I love you, Stella. I haven't said that to anyone since Claire, but I know that I do and I know that if anyone can survive this, it's you; it's us. When you left, you told me to wait. I'll wait for you for as long as it takes._

_Mac_

She looked up at him, feeling the tears threaten behind her eyes and found his eyes on her, evidently having finished her last letter to him, dated the day before the attack on the warehouse at the dock:

_M-_

_ There's something I need to say to you and I'm not sure how much time I have to say it, so I'm going to try to make this letter short. This whole year has been hell and tomorrow it's all going to come to a head. Normally I wouldn't worry so much because it's you and the team and us but this time, I can't help it. I wish I could tell you everything they're planning so you can help me stop all this. I wish this wasn't another 9/11; I wish you were here so we could talk through this together. I wish this year hadn't happened. I wish so many things that I can't have because whether I like it or not, I'm a different person now. This year has been hell as the person I've become. I've had to do so many awful things that I'm not sure where I draw the line anymore. Sometimes I'm not even sure I remember what I look like. _

_ But it hasn't just been hell because of that. It's been hell because you haven't been with me. I can't talk out the craziness that has become my life; I can't hear your voice, see your face, feel your hand on my back when you open doors for me. Have I ever told you how reassuring your voice is? You know that little twang you have when you say things like "okay", how it's always so gentle and strong at the same time? Or that low, gravelly quality it gets when you're angry and yelling at a suspect or peeling me off the ceiling? Even when you sound angry, it's comforting because I know we're close to a solution. What I wouldn't give right now to hear all of those things in your voice, to hear you finally reason with these guys and get them to stand down, to hear you say my name. My real name._

_ And your face: those little worry lines that I'm always itching to smooth away with my fingers, the circles under your eyes from over-work and lack of sleep. Do you have any idea how much I love your eyes? They're this stormy blue-ish, grey sort of color and I swear, every time I look you in the eyes, I can see straight down to your soul, however clouded it gets on the way. I remember you telling me what that Deaf woman said to you when we closed her case and got her granddaughter home. She said: "I speak with my hands. You speak with your eyes." I couldn't have put it better myself. I always knew that no matter what happened, you were always going to be there because the look in your eyes told me you would._

_ Just seeing you, hearing your voice, feeling you beside me has always made me stronger. I tried to memorize all those little things before I had to leave, but I'm starting to forget them. I have words to describe them, words to describe how they made me feel, but I'm starting to forget them in real life. I wish I could come home. To you._

_ Tomorrow is probably going to be the worst day that we've had in awhile and I need to tell you this, should anything go wrong. And I know that I'm screwed up and that maybe I don't have any right to say this because after everything, you deserve someone stable, someone who at least knows her own name with some conviction. So I'm sorry. I can't be that person and I'm not sure that I ever will be again. This is the most selfish thing I've ever said in my life, but I can't keep it quiet any longer. _

_ I love you._

_ I __l__**ove**__ you._

_**I love you**__._

_ I think I've always known, but it's taken this year living without you to make me move. I wish I could say this to you in person because you deserve someone who's going to say this to you in person, but this is the best I can do. I have no doubt that this letter will get to you- if I can't give it to you myself, it'll go through the…proper channels until you read it._

_ For the past thirteen years, you've been my best friend. You've made me feel needed and important and loved. Whenever I had a bad day, I just needed to see you because when I did, things were suddenly bearable again. When there was a crisis- and we've gone through many- you were always at my side. When there was joy, we experienced it together. I found that the only times that I was truly happy- you know, that light feeling in your chest, that smile you can't wipe off your face- were when I was with you. I always hoped that you were going to be in my life forever. I'm sorry that our time might be cut short. But however unfair it is, however angry I might be because everything could very well end tomorrow, I realized something important: even if we can't have forever in person, the memories we have __**do**__ have forever. We exist in those moments just as much as we exist right now. So, I want to thank you because I know no matter what happens tomorrow, we're always going to have those memories. _

_ Thank you for giving me my little forever._

_ Here's hoping it won't be just a memory._

_Yours Always,_

_-S_

They held each others' gazes for what felt like ages, neither of them knowing quite what to say. As Stella searched his eyes, which seemed to have brightened several shades from their usual blueish-gray, she saw something in them that she'd seen before, but had been too afraid to recognize or let herself believe was there. Seeing that…whatever it was in his eyes ignited the slow simmer of determination she'd felt at dinner to a full burn.

Mac looked back at her and noticed that, for the first time since she'd returned from her assignment, the haunted, insecure look that was there had been replaced by the conviction he'd naturally come to associate with her. He felt his heart soar: the words she'd written to him were true. He hoped she could tell that his were as well.

Finally, Stella was the first one to speak, albeit quietly, like she wasn't quite sure that she wasn't dreaming. "Mac, I- would you say it? I need to hear you say it."

Mac lifted her feet off his lap and placed both of their collections of letters on the coffee table. At first, he avoided her eyes and seemed unsure of what to do with his hands, but Stella covered them with her own. He looked at her then, finally allowing the look she'd seen behind his eyes before have full reign of his face.

"I love you, Stella," he said, his voice low and slightly hoarse.

She let out a short breath as a wide smile spread across her face and she squeezed his hands. "I love you too."

They chuckled happily as Stella wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek against his. She brushed her fingers through his hair. "I've never said that to anyone before."

"I know."

His hand brushed over the back of her head and she sighed deeply. _We can do this now, whenever we want,_ she thought as she felt the butterflies take flight through her.

He kissed her then, suddenly, just behind her ear and it made her heart jump in anticipation. She curled her fingers into his hair when she felt him start to pull away, but he gently disentangled himself enough to rest his forehead against hers and hold her face with both of his hands. She opened her eyes and saw the tension in his face that always accompanied deep concentration.

"Stella," he breathed.

She slid her fingers to his jaw and then down to his shoulders. "Mac."

He closed the distance between them and touched his lips to hers, again making her gasp. He stayed there for a moment and pulled away slightly to look at her. Her grin in return was all he needed to know. As his hands slid to her waist to pull her in for another kiss, she thought, _we can do this now too._

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "Firefly"- Ed Sheeran, "Tenerife Sea"- Ed Sheeran, "Silent Storm"- Carl Epsen, "Say"- John Mayer_

_**A/N: If you're in the US, Happy Thanksgiving! If you're not, happy almost every-winter-holiday!**_


	23. Ch 23- In the Morning

In the Morning

_Ten, nine, eight, _Mac watched as the seconds ticked down on his watch, his fingers hovering over the power button on his computer. _Seven, six. _Just a few more seconds with no case and he'd be home free. Or vacation-free, as Stella had put it the week before. _Five. Four. Three. Two. One. _Mac hurriedly checked his phone and sighed in relief when he found no new messages from dispatch. Not wanting to waste any more time now that his watch was nearing 5:01, he shut down his computer and leaped out of his chair. He passed Lindsay on the way to the elevator and he caught her smirk and her shared glance with Danny. "Have fun this weekend, Mac!" she called over her shoulder as Danny tried to hide his snicker from behind her.

Normally, such a remark might motivate him to give them both Dumpster duty for the foreseeable future, but he was too ecstatic at the moment to care. He and Stella had kept their…shared personal life out of the office for all of eleven days after she'd started back on the job three months ago. The first to know of their relationship, ironically, was Danny, who caught a glimpse of them in the locker room after a particularly difficult case not long after Stella returned. Nothing major had happened, but considering the closeness with which they were sitting together and the light kiss Mac placed on the top of her head, it hadn't been difficult for him to deduce what was going on. He'd promptly spread the news to Lindsay and Flack who had shared it with Sheldon, Sid, and Adam. Of course, they all teased them with varying degrees of mercilessness whenever they got the chance, unless the chief was around.

One instance that was particularly notable to Mac was at Stella's welcome back party at Mac's place, where they'd been living together since she'd returned. Flack had made a comment that had Mac stumbling over his words in an attempt at damage control, but Stella had merely grinned at him, slid her hand along his jaw to turn him toward her, and captured his lips with hers. Amid the wolf whistles, applause, and bet winnings being exchanged, she'd released him and leaned in to whisper, "It was the only thing I could come up with to shut both of you up."

He'd chuckled and kissed her again. "It's about time, anyway."

In the elevator now, Mac waved to Lindsay and Danny and checked his watch again: 5:02. He hit the ground floor button impatiently and shut his phone off. Sheldon and the rest of his team could manage without him until Tuesday. He watched the numbers scroll down slowly from the 34th floor and impulsively checked his jacket pocket. _Good, _he thought, his palm curving around the small, square edges there.

Finally, the elevator doors opened and Mac closed the rest of the distance between himself and the bright sun outside. As soon as he exited the building, he caught a glimpse of Stella across the street, leaning lithely against his truck. Her hair, curly and wild as ever, caught the sunlight so some lighter locks were spun into gold. She'd changed out of the suit she'd been wearing earlier to an airy sun dress that danced around her knees in the breeze from passing traffic. The sling on her arm was gone and the scars- the visible ones at least- had healed and faded completely from her face. Even from this distance, her eyes sparkled at him and his heart beat picked up just slightly at her playful smile. He made his way over to her, returning her smile with his own and his hands found her waist when he reached her. He leaned in to kiss her gently.

"You finished early," he said, pulling away and tucking a chestnut-colored curl behind her ear.

Her fingers traced his jaw lightly. "I closed my case early. I wanted to sneak out before you."

He laughed, letting his fingers roam around the smooth fabric of her dress to the small of her back where he clasped his hands.

"And I'm impressed, Detective Taylor," she continued, following his lead and snaking her arms around his neck.

"Why's that?"

"You left work on time without anyone forcing you to. No overtime, no coercing, no murders to solve, nothing."

He shrugged cheekily, sliding one hand up her back to play with her hair. "I had a little bit of motivation. This was a fantastic idea, Stella."

"I think we both deserve a weekend away. By the way, where _are _we spending our weekend away?"

Instead of answering, Mac unclasped his hands and used one on the small of her back to lead her around the car to the passenger-side door. "Well that would just ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?"

She slid in and rolled her eyes at him. "You're terrible, you know that?"

"So you tell me," he chuckled and leaned in to kiss her again. After what was definitely too short a moment though, he pulled away. "We should get going so we can beat the traffic."

Stella smirked at him again and shook her head almost imperceptibly as she touched her lips to his once more. She kissed him soundly for another few, too-short moments and then let her lips travel to his ear where she whispered, "Traffic to where, Mac?"

He opened his mouth to answer her, not bothering to hide the shiver that took its time along his spine at her breath on his cheek, but then pulled back and narrowed his eyes. "Nice try Detective, but I'm not falling for it." He pecked her lips and closed the car door, biting his cheek to keep from laughing as she ran a hand through her hair and leaned back against the seat in frustration. As he crossed in front of the truck, he reached once more for his jacket pocket and his hand closed around the little blue Tiffany's box inside. She'd joked once that she could find them from the moon and he couldn't help but wonder if she'd figured out his plan.

In addition to the small vacation Stella suggested for them last week, Mac had brought up another idea to her that they'd been discussing since they'd exchanged letters on his couch. At first, she hadn't wanted to push it, preferring to get herself back on track before any other commitments were made. But when she suggested the vacation over dinner, she hesitantly mentioned his idea again. The smile she'd given him had sent his heart soaring: she was ready.

He set his jacket in the backseat next to hers and started the truck. Stella began humming softly along with the radio and waited until Mac pulled into traffic to take his hand in hers. She squeezed his fingers and was reminded again of what his presence by her side did to her mood, even after the difficult week they'd had. Although things were better- she'd been able to conduct interviews with the scum that made their way through the precinct without anything more than the usual anger rising up in her- they still weren't completely back to normal. Just the night before, Mac had found her crying over a cup of tea at the kitchen table at one in the morning because of a particularly nasty nightmare triggered by something a suspect had said to her in interrogation.

Just before the turn to the highway, Mac recognized the quietness that clouded her face and he knew she was thinking of the case they had and how difficult it was for her to keep herself at a distance. When he stopped at a traffic light, he lifted their hands slowly so the back of hers rested on his chest where she could feel his heartbeat. They shared a smile and Mac watched as the clouds cleared. He exhaled softly in relief as Stella went back to humming along with the radio and they turned onto the highway. Just months ago, she would have hardly let herself think of something beyond her assignment; the future seemed foolish to even consider. But now, as they rolled the windows down and let the early fall breeze rush through the car, the future seemed reachable, as if it were just down the road, right there on the horizon.

* * *

_IAL Soundtrack: "In the Morning"- Fran Healy, "Holding Onto Good" Delta Rae_

_A/N: Wow, here we are at the end of "In Another Life" (because this was originally everything I had planned)! Thank you so much for following me through to the end and for all of your wonderful comments- especially you, Lily Moonlight (it's nice to know I've got a veteran on my side)! You've all inspired me to keep writing! _

_Actually, I've been toying with the idea of a sequel because I've had so much fun writing Mac and Stella. So far, I've got a couple ideas like a new big bad for Mac (Ella McBride's return?), exploring the psychological effects of Stella's time undercover, or just foregoing all of the doom and gloom and letting them have a fluffy happily-ever-after. Thoughts, anyone? _

_Whether I get involved with a sequel or not though, I'll still be writing/ posting one-shots and missing scenes that I've always felt were lacking from the show, so stay tuned! Again, thanks for being awesome!_

_-KP_


End file.
